Everything
by Lynx Larabellows
Summary: It had been a mistake, a simple, stupid mistake that could have been entirely avoided had he not given in and lost control of himself... turns out it was the best thing that could have happened to him. Compliant with Finding Yourself. Changed Future.
1. The Disclaimer

**¸.·´¯·»**Charmed**«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»****Everything****«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**  
**¸.·´¯·»**_The Disclaimer_**«·´¯·.¸**

First of all, please allow me to say that you **are not obligated to read this page**. This is only to abide by this site's regulations, and hopefully to relay a few things that may be of interest. The story begins in the next chapter, so please feel free to ignore this is you just want to get to the story.

**Rating: **Mature

**Warnings: **Compliant with Finding Yourself, set in the changed future, violence, some gore, dark themes, angst, drama, mild language, and mature scenes.

**Summary: **Wyatt Halliwell thought he had it all—he was the successful owner of the hottest nightclub in town, was wealthy enough, had the coolest friends in the world, the best family anyone could ever ask for, and a loving fiancée who knew everything about him, including the family secret… and he just so happens to save the world every other day. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any better, everything changes in a downward spiral. His fiancée cheats on him, his litter sister has finally reached the age where she likes boys, the most treasured family heirloom gets stolen, and his cousin begins dating his best friend which means Wyatt is going to have to kill him for crossing that boundary… but things begin to look up when he keeps running into the beautiful Brígh Rowan.

**Disclaimer:**I am not associated or affiliated with Aaron Spelling or the WB or CW. The only things I own are the original characters, and most of the plot.

**Notes:**First and foremost, this story will not be actively worked on until _Finding Yourself _is complete. The only reason I began posting this, is because it was just sitting here on my computer, taunting me.

This will be a _long_ story, so if you were just looking for a quick read, this is not the story for you. This is basically a complete rewrite of the story I took down, _Life… or Something Like It._ Although I will say this—_Everything_ pretty much leaves the old plot in the dust. There will be certain similarities to the previous version, some character names and most of the events have been changed though. This will not be a direct sequel to my other story, _Finding Yourself_, though there are quite a few similarities. Think of it as taking place in the same universe.

This will be based in the changed future, and all of the 'next generation' will be entering adulthood. Whereas the first story was more Chris centric, this one will focus more on Wyatt. That's not to say that Chris will be shoved into the background, not at all—it just means that Chris will be taking a tiny, near insignificant step back and letting big brother have some attention. It will be about him, and how one mistake can lead to the best thing that's ever happened to him. I can't really say anymore than that without giving away some of the plot.

For those of you who read the original, keep in mind that when I wrote that drivel I was still in my teens and not very developed as a writer. For those of you who actually liked it, I apologize for abandoning it and now overhauling it, but hopefully you will appreciate this version more. After rereading it, I realized that Brianna was, indeed, as Mary-Sue as you can possibly get. But fear not, with this rewrite, the character will be much more developed and mature, and hopefully more likable.

Lynx


	2. The Club

**¸.·´¯·»****Chapter One****«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»**_The Club_**«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

The parking lot was nearly completely full to its capacity limit, each of the long rows effectively jam-packed with vehicles of all shapes, sizes and colors, and the few spaces that remained unoccupied were steadily becoming fewer and fewer with each passing moment. It seemed as if everyone was in a particular hurry tonight, horns blaring loudly at the pedestrians to scurry out of the way, mainly because the impatient men and women in their vehicles felt as if the pedestrians were delaying precious time that could either mean a primo parking space or a two block walk from a space further downtown—which, of course, would most likely make it all the more difficult to get inside of the club itself.

It was a well-known fact that anyone who was anyone could be found at the hottest nightclub in the entire city, especially at the start of the weekend like tonight. The long line of anxious people leading from the nearly over occupied parking lot to the entrance which was blocked off by muscular men and a velvet rope, every single one of them dressed to impress with their finest party attire, were all still waiting restlessly for their chance to be allowed entrance to the club, the pulsing and somewhat muffled beat from the live band teasing them mercilessly.

And so, needless to say, that when a certain young man pulled up in his old beat up truck and smoothly glided into a reserved parking space near the entrance, he garnered himself a lot of unwanted attention from the crowd. He was dressed in a rumpled button down shirt, a jean jacket that had seen better days, and a pair of tatty and worn jeans. He stood out very obviously among those wearing the highest and priciest fashions of the month, and many turned their noses up at him while others just ignored the newest addition.

However, what really and truly enraged the patrons waiting for their own admittance to the club was not the fact that this stranger was dressed so inferior to their classiness—no, what enraged them was the fact that he ignored and bypassed the line entirely, taking a more direct route towards the bouncers as if he owned the place. And then, the large and clearly imposing men guarding the doors proceeded to unhook the velvet ropes, and allowed him through without delay.

It was outrageous, though the complaints and protest of the impatient and angry crowd falling on deaf ears.

The man was either unaware or uncaring of all of the nasty looks and vulgar names his actions earned him, and really, if he had not been so distracted and upset at the moment, even then he would have only been amused by their reactions. What strangers thought of him were inconsequential, and right now his mind was completely focused on one thing, and one thing only and he was determined to see it through.

The stairwell leading from the entrance down into the club itself was relatively empty, the majority of the patrons currently gathered in front of the stage to cheer and dance as the band began the chords of a popular tune. Others were simply milling around at the tables and comfortable leather couches, some hiding within the privacy of an alcove to enjoy an intimate moment.

All throughout the club, people were sipping at their beverages or enjoying the company of their friends or acquaintances. He himself had his mind on the center of the room. He walked resolutely towards it, so intent to reach his destination that he rudely pushed past several people in his stride.

Despite the fact that he had not shaved in three days and his _I'm wearing the same clothes as I did yesterday and I don't give a damn_ appearance, he still managed to catch the attention of a large portion of the crowd who seemed to find his rugged appearance attractive.

Many of the regulars, who frequented the club almost every night and had been doing so for years, knew exactly who this young man was, and they all knew better than to even consider approaching him with the vibes he was emanating.

There could be no denying that he was a handsome man, and normally he would have smirked when he drew the eyes of several people in the room, including people who already had a significant other. He was a smart man, charming and wealthy, which his clear and soulful cerulean blue eyes, long dark blond hair that was clearly begging someone to run their fingers through the tousled curls and tame them. His friendly and dimpled smile could melt even the coldest of hearts.

A few might have even gone as far as to claim that he was the definition of sexy in the past, and usually he would have been pleased with the attention he gained.

At the moment, however, he looked downright menacing. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, his head downcast so that his disheveled and unkempt hair acted as a veil to hide the way his mouth was twisted into an irate scowl. And his eyes… they may as well have been made of ice for how cold they were. The way he held himself right now clearly told people that he was not in a mood to be disturbed.

Ignorant or just uncaring of the eyes following and assessing him, he sat down on a stool as he finally reached his destination at the bar, taking care to choose a seat with the least amount of people present. He took no notice of the brunette woman who suddenly perched near his left, her legs crossed towards him as he attempted to flag down one of the busy bartenders. He let out an irritated sigh when he was unsuccessful in his attempts, rolling up his sleeves in an effort to distract himself from how badly he wanted a drink.

If he didn't get one soon, someone would be very, _very_ sorry.

Minutes passed at a painstakingly slow pace and he grew increasingly frustrated with each passing second, but it wasn't until he felt a perfectly manicured hand close over his tense forearm that he felt his miniscule patience finally snap. He gritted his teeth as he maintained his precarious tempter, and reached up to capture the offending claw that had already begun to race the soft blue veins, visible through his lightly tanned skin, and it took every ounce of his control not to be rough as he removed her hand.

"Not interested," he told her gruffly, not even bothering to look at her to see what she looked like. And really, he was not interested in anything at the moment other than getting his drink.

Perhaps after a few shots, or possibly a few bottles of alcohol, he may consider going on the prowl for some pleasurable company. But until then, he had no interest on some random woman who thought she could seduce him into being her plaything for the night.

Unfortunately enough for the both of them, she was persistent and apparently not easily deterred by his dismissive attitude. He cringed uncomfortably at the overwhelming scent of her perfume as she pressed her body against his side. "Are you sure? Because I think I can change your mind…" Her voice was like liquid honey, low and suggestive, sticky sweet, and she emphasized her point by placing her hand on him again, this time high on his thigh, dangerously close to a certain part of his anatomy.

A quiet rumbling escaped him, almost like a growl but not quite, and he finally turned to face her. She was attractive enough, he supposed—she had a decent figure, dark caramel hair, big blue eyes outlined by dark charcoal and artificial lashes. She was probably the kind of woman who usually got her way, but even if he were already smashed, he would never consider it. She was too… fake, for his tastes, and too aggressive.

As far as he was concerned, he was still entirely too sober and she was just another obstacle trying to keep him from his ultimate goal of the night of drinking himself stupid. He did not breathe a word to the woman, and he didn't have to. His eyes were warning her that he was at the very end of his patience, and she was pushing him to make that final leap to do something he would regret come morning when he was finally calm.

The woman swallowed thickly, grabbed her purse and left.

Sighing in relief at her retreat, he turned his eyes back to the bartenders, who were apparently still too occupied with the fussy and demanding customers on the other side of the bar to bother with him. Scowling in displeasure at being so blatantly ignored, he reached over the countertop without any further ado, and wrapped his long fingers around the neck of whatever bottle he came into contact with.

Barely pausing to glance at the label, a soft sound of approval escaping his throat, he reached again, this time pulling back with a single tumbler. He huffed a bit, because he was hoping for a larger glass, though he supposed it would have to do for now.

A strangled noise met his ears as he began to pour himself some of the alcohol. He glanced up to see a slack mouthed bartender staring at him in shock. He snorted—of course they would notice _now_, when he was no longer in need for any assistance.

Bringing the edge of the glass to his lips, he swallowed it all in one gulp, savoring the burn as it traveled down his throat.

"Hey!" the bartender said loudly, finally reacting to what he was witnessing. "You can't do that!" His voice held a certain amount of incredulity to it, as if he couldn't believe that anyone would have the gall to simply reach over the bar and take something. His words, however, had no effect, the other man rolling his eyes and pouring himself another drink and eagerly bringing it to his mouth.

And it burned oh so wonderfully—he barely managed to hold back a cringe at the familiar taste of the whisky, knowing it would aide him in his endeavor to drown in his sorrows, and to forget. As he went to pour himself another, a hand attempted to intercept the bottle. He pulled the whiskey out of reach and raised his head to stare at the culprit.

The poor bartender looked suitably intimidated by his glare, he noted smugly, though the hostile look faded into one of puzzlement as blue eyes scrutinized the stranger in front of him. After a moment, he could one come to one conclusion.

"You must be the new guy," he said casually, as if he had not just stolen himself a few shots of whiskey. He had to bite the inside of his cheek as the bartender stared at him as if he had just spoken in another language entirely.

The alcohol was slow to take effect but he could already feel the beginnings of a pleasant warmth spread through his muscles, making him much more relaxed. He snorted softly into his shot glass when he noticed that the bartender was inconspicuously attempting to catch the eye of a nearby bouncer, presumably to _take care_ of him.

"Tommy?" He guessed. "Timmy?"

"It's Tony," the bartender corrected absently, becoming so increasingly anxious as it became apparent that he was not going to stop at just two or three drinks without paying, that he didn't even pause to question how it was that this man knew he was a new employee here or hoe he at least knew the correct amount of syllables in his name when he was not wearing a nametag. "Look, you can't just reach over the counter and take stuff. You have to pay for it,"

Tony winched nervously as intense eyes regarded him seriously.

Though instead of becoming angry with him for stating simple facts, the man only shook his head and chuckled deep within his throat, apparently amused by him. "I think… _Tony_," he drawled, the mirth prominent in his voice as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "That you'll find I can do whatever the hell I want."

As if to emphasize his point, he not only finished off the drink in the tumbler but also made a split second decision that refilling the glass was becoming too much of a hassle for his current state of mind, and then proceeded to lift the bottle by the neck until the rim rested at his lips. His eyes watered slightly as he swallowed as much of the sharp tasting alcohol as he could while gravity provided a challenge for his frantically working throat.

After a good while he discovered that yes, he did still need to breathe, and reluctantly lowered it. He coughed a bit, observing the fact that the bottle was half empty with a frown. He would need a new one soon. He wiped at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand where some of the alcohol had managed to escape, licking his lips.

The pleasant buzz was nowhere near as drunk as he wanted to be just yet but he was certainly on his way, given his current pace.

Tony could only stare wide eyed at the display. He shook his head, narrowing his eyes into slits, not very pleased that he was being so blatantly ignored, especially not on his first official day on the job. He may have been too intimidated to do something about this man himself, but he did gain some confidence as he finally caught the eye of one of the bouncers. Tony was hoping that the larger man would… _assist_ him with the thieving trouble maker.

And by _assist_, what he really meant was, he hoped the larger man would toss the bastard in the alleyway out back with the rest of the garbage, especially if the guy continued to ignore the simple fact that he had to _pay_.

Darryl Morris Junior was not a particularly large man, though he was by no means out of shape. He was tall with a medium build, his muscles sculpted and defined beneath molten chocolate skin. Currently he was wearing a tight shirt, which he wore for two purposes—one, to show off his upper body, because if he had to act tough in a club full of beautiful, and questionably single women, then he was going to use it to his advantage; and two, to signify that he was a bouncer, and that he could manhandle anyone who attempted to disrupt the peace to his friend's club.

"Is there a problem here?" Darryl asked cautiously, straightening up when he finally got a look at the blond.

Before the disgruntled bartender could even attempt to recount the incident, the blond turned to him and shook his head slowly in answer. "No… not really, D.J." he said smoothly, a pleasant smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.

It was the tone of the young man's voice that told Darryl that he would have to tread carefully, his eyes drawn to the excessive amount of alcohol with resignation. He wondered just how much the man had already managed to consume before the bartender had caught his attention.

"The new guy doesn't seem to know who I am, though," the blond added. "He keeps trying to take this," He shook the bottle slightly. "Away from me…" His voice was cool and even… dangerous. "He _really_ shouldn't."

Darryl gave him a wary look, wondering if he could manage to get the bottle away from him without losing an arm for his efforts. "Wy, man," he began with concern. "Come on. It's his first night, give him a break." He could only sigh as he watched the man empty the bottle in response, the last of its contents sloshing into the man's mouth.

A new bottle replaced it just as quickly, the man reaching over the counter again.

Something had happened, something really bad.

Darryl had known it since he had first received the frantic phone call from his father three nights ago, and now, witnessing what this man was up to, he knew it had to have been more severe than he had initially guessed. Darryl could literally count on just one hand, the number of times he had witnessed Wyatt Halliwell get drunk—sure the man drank all the time, he was in his prime after all, though he was the one who remained responsible while the rest of them got smashed.

Each time Wyatt got truly drunk, there had been a reason for it, each one more unpleasant than the last, and Darryl was not exactly sure how to handle his friend when he was in this type of mood.

And thankfully, he wouldn't have to, because their little disturbance had drawn the attention of the current manager on duty, Darryl's younger brother Eric. He was much better at dealing with anyone in this kind of state. Eric was a few inches shorter than him, though his muscles were a bit more bulky. His hair was shaved closely to his head, just like his brother's, and he had the same dark eyes they had inherited from their father.

Eric took in the scene with a slight winch, sharing a look with his brother. He grabbed the empty bottle, throwing it away and wiping the countertop with a rag to get rid of the little bit of whiskey that had been spilt as he tried to think of the best way to approach his friend. When he was done cleaning up, he frowned deeply at Wyatt, deciding it would probably be best to just speak his mind rather than be delicate.

"You scared the shit out of us Wy," he said bluntly, and the only indication that he had managed to capture the other man's attention was the slight pause as he struggled to open a bottle of tequila. "What? Don't you have anything to say, you jackass?" he demanded, seriously tempted to smack the man he had always thought of as family over the head with something heavy. "Three days… it's been _three days_ Wyatt. You've been _missing_ for three days… and now you are just going to sit here like nothing happened? That you didn't just disappear?"

The blond remained silent.

Eric scowled. "You know, dealing with your mother alone while she is hysterical over your disappearance is enough to drive a man crazy. And then there are your cousins, your sister, your aunts…" He trailed off, his tone managing to convey the amount of stress they had all endured these past few days better than his words ever could. He knew just by looking at the other man that he would not be getting any answers out of him, at least not tonight.

However there was the barest hint of a smile appearing on the corner of his friend's mouth as he spoke of the man's mother, and the rest of his family. Eric glowered—it was not amusing! It had been a nightmare!

"Where were you?"

Wyatt ran a hand over his face tiredly and sighed, finally setting the bottle down long enough to give an answer, even if it wasn't quite the one his friends were hoping for. "I didn't stay in one place for too long. Damien let me crash at his house for a while, then I went to Isaac's another night. I walked around for most of it. Needed… I needed to think, to be alone…" he admitted quietly. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly."

"No shit," Darryl snorted.

"You could have at least picked up a damn phone and let everyone know that you were okay," Eric said reproachfully. "It wasn't your best move, disappearing like that. No one knew what happened or where you were… for all we knew, you had been attacked and left to die in a ditch. Everyone has been going crazy trying to find out where you've been." He sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "Does your mother even know you're back yet?"

Wyatt rolled the neck of the bottle between his fingers. "No."

"Are you planning on telling her any time soon?"

"… Nope,"

"Will you tell _me_ what happened?"

Wyatt knew that intellectually, the mature thing to do would be to say yes, to allow his friend to take him home where he could speak rationally and tell everyone exactly what had caused his flight reaction to kick in. Only… only he wasn't sure if he was physically capable of talking about it just yet. He was just so tired… and emotionally exhausted. No, he didn't want to talk. He wanted to forget.

Standing from the barstool with a soft sigh, he clutched the bottle of tequila loosely in his hand. "If that is all, gentlemen, I think I will retire to the lounge," he said, his mouth forming into a bitter smile. "I suggest you all get back to work before you get in trouble with the boss," He gave them a mock salute and sauntered off into the crowd.

Tony, the nearly forgotten bartender, was the first to speak. "Why did you let him steal from us?"

Darryl sighed heavily, shaking his head at his friend's departure and resisting the urge to go after him. "Because, technically, he owns everything already, so it wasn't exactly stealing," he kindly informed him. "That was Wyatt Halliwell. He's the other owner of the club. Chris, the guy who hired you… is his younger brother." He bit his lip to keep from laughing as all of the color fled from the poor new employee's face. "Don't sweat it," he said, smiling. "Wyatt's a good guy. He's not really the type to fire people just because they don't recognize him. If anything, it amuses him to no end. You just caught him in a bad mood."

Eric gave the kid a friendly pat on the back. "Still, it would probably be best to stay out of his way for tonight. I seriously doubt he will venture our way again, but if he does decide that he wants to drink down here instead, just let me or one of the others handle it."

"You're sure that I… that I won't get fired over this, right?"

"No worries," Eric assured him. "He'll probably come to his senses in the morning, and want to apologize."

Darryl snorted. "That's if he even remembers any of this."

"True," Eric agreed with an impish grin.

A small disruption near the state drew Darryl away to deal with unruly patrons for a few moments later on, and as soon as he got the chance, Eric pulled out his phone and dialed the number of one of his closest friends. Unfortunately enough, he ended up with having to leave a voicemail, and was only able to convey a short message that Wyatt was in the club and looked relatively okay _physically._ Mental wellness was still up for debate. He tried very much to downplay the emotional state Wyatt was in, because knowing Chris, he was likely to worry himself sick when he got the message and realized that his brother was drinking excessively.

Eric had a vague idea of what could have upset his friend so much, even though he could not be positive he was right, and even then he still was unaware what the circumstances might have been. Hopefully Wyatt would be calm and sober enough tomorrow to explain what had happened, or at least, enlighten them all as to why he decided to disappear for three days.

With a sigh, Eric got back to work.

The young man spent the next hour helping various customers. All of the fussy, the flirty, the macho, the needy, and the horribly drunk customers who had nothing better to do than chat his ear off for hours on end. He cleaned spills and left over cherry stems. There were even some napkins that had phone numbers and little hearts written on them, though considering he couldn't remember who might have left them for him to find, such things usually went into the trash. He was in the process of throwing one such number away when something pleasant caught his eye.

Eric unconsciously stood up straighter, one hand rising to rub at his closely shaven head anxiously when he had identified her. The grin that etched its way onto his face was positively predatory as he watched two women approach his section of the bar. And, not shy in the least, Eric allowed his eyes to devour every inch of feminine beauty they had to offer, though he gravitated towards one in particular.

Cadence Rowan was well known to this scene. She came in at least once a week, though never on any particular day… just whenever the fancy struck her. She was, simply put, _gorgeous_, with long blond hair and golden skin. She had an air of superiority that spoke of absolute confidence, wealth and worldly experience, and she absolutely flaunted it. She had no problem flaunting her looks either, with skin tight dresses that left little to the imagination.

Eric did love to admire her, though one of his favorite things about her… was that she happened to be quite intelligent. Eric admired her more for her sharp wit and her ability to render him speechless with a single sentence than her looks, and she certainly had no problem speaking her mind. It was refreshing compared to the drunken doozies that usually attempted to chat him up. He knew he would never stand a chance with her outside of this atmosphere, though he was perfectly content to mix her drinks and gossip about the world in general.

The redhead, however, Eric could not recall ever seeing before, so he took a moment to observe her. She looked a bit younger than her blond companion, though not by much, and she was quite a bit shorter. After further scrutiny he deducted that she must have been related to Cadence in some way, because both possessed similar delicate features. Her skin was soft ivory, and her hair was down in corkscrew curls, luscious dark wine in color. He black dress she wore did show off her figure, though it was quite modest compared to the other woman's cream one.

"Ladies," Eric greeted them smoothly. "What can I get for you on this fine night?"

Cadence smiled coyly at him, one arm leaning down against the edge of the counter and dipping low enough to give him a pleasant glimpse of her cleavage. "Eric, darling, it is so nice to see you again," she said easily, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You can start us off with two shots of your choice," Her voice was low and sultry as she slid a small amount of money towards him to pay for the drinks. "And then you can get me my usual,"

Eric accepted the money with a raised eyebrow. Normally she went for the more subtle, fruity drinks, rather than straight up liquor, and she usually avoided mixing her alcohol though he didn't question it. "Of course… but first, I will need to see some identification for your friend first," he told her, not even bothering to ask for hers. He had seen it on so many occasions, that he practically had every last detail committed to memory.

At his words, the redhead looked up with a triumphant gleam in her eye, and when she spoke, her voice was deceivingly pleasant. "Oh. What a pity. I seemed to have forgotten it in my other evening gown," She made a slight show out of patting her sides down for nonexistent pockets. "It's a shame, really. Maybe next time I can—"

Cadence merely smiled as she interrupted the display, clearly having already anticipated this very situation. "Don't be ridiculous, little sister," she said deviously. She simply reached inside of her small clutch handbag and extracted the little plastic card she had pilfered from the redhead's wallet earlier in the evening. Her smile steadily transformed into a smirk as the other woman narrowed her eyes at the card in irritation. "I knew you would forget your purse, so _forgetful_ you are sister dear… so I took the liberty of remembering for you."

There was no answer.

"You didn't actually think I was going to let you out of your first drink as a legal woman, now did you?"

Eric was hard pressed not to laugh as he passed the identification card back to the blond after verifying the young woman was beyond the legal age to buy alcohol, biting down his own lip in amusement as he noticed the dark scowl painted across the redhead's face. According to her license, her name was Brígh. And from the look of it, she was very unhappy with the current predicament.

"I already _had_ a drink," Brígh said with a look of contempt, wanting to erase the smug look from her sister's face.

The blond woman waved her hand in obvious dismissal. "A few sips of champagne is hardly the way to celebrate your twenty-first. You need a real birthday party now that all of the formalities with the family are over. Now it's just the two of us. Now we can really celebrate… by getting tipsy and have a grand time doing it."

Cadence eagerly accepted her shot, and Eric silently slid the other in front of Brígh to take. The blond rolled the chilled tumbler between her fingers, silently waiting for her sister to cease being stubborn. Brígh only raised a delicately sculpted eyebrow in response.

"I'm not drinking it," she said firmly. "I put up with the extravagant party that Ma a Da decided to throw, and I let you dress me up in this rubberband masquerading as fabric. And I even let you drag me here. But I refuse to drink anything other than water. If you really wanted a drinking buddy, you should have brought one of your friends."

Though the pleasant smile remained firmly in place upon Cadence's lips, her eye twitched noticeably due to her ire. "Brígh, sweetie… we _didn't_ just stand outside for an hour to have you sit here and chicken out at the last minute," she told her matter-of-factly. "You seem to forget that I have a lifetime of blackmail material on you, little sister," The threatening edge to her voice was steadily ignored as Brígh merely turned to observe the band playing on the stage. "Eric,"

Eric blinked, pausing as he mixed together her usual drink. "Yes?"

"Darling, I would like for you to meet my younger sister, Brígh," Cadence introduced sweetly, an edge to her smile that made him just as wary as the redhead was.

"Nice to meet you," he replied, a bit unsurely.

"Cadence," Brígh said in warning, though not before returning the gesture with a tight smile.

"Today is her birthday, you know," the blond continued, even though they all knew that he had probably deducted this on his own, if not from her identification card then by eavesdropping on their conversation. "She just turned twenty-one. And," Cadence said brightly, her voice positively radiant. "She's single!"

Brígh narrowed her eyes but her sister wasn't done just yet.

"In fact, she had been single for quite some time now," Cadence smirked. "I don't think she's ever been on a single date… she might even be a vir—"

The rest of her sentence was left to implication as Brígh decided her sister had spoken quite enough and cried in protest and humiliation. Eric bit the inside of his cheek and took an idle guess at what the blond had been about to say, finding the shade of red on her cheeks complimentary to her burgundy hair. He was not about to touch that topic with a ten foot pole, and held his hands up in universal surrender. He figured it was best to keep his silence.

Brígh glared sullenly as she brought the drink closer to her mouth. "I hate you."

"I know, darling," Cadence smiled sweetly raised her glass in a toast, awaiting her to do the same before she spoke again. "Now… a bird with one wing cannot fly," she declared before swallowing the shot.

Brígh sighed with obvious reluctance before she copied the action. She had never really had anything stronger than champagne before, having stayed away from the same crowds her sister chose to associate with, and she couldn't help but choke slightly on the overwhelming taste of the alcohol. It burned unexpectedly as it slid down her throat and she slammed the glass back down while she coughed. Cadence just laughed at her, picking up the mixed drink she had ordered.

"… I hate you," Brígh repeated, sputtering.

"Awe, I love you too, pumpkin," the blond cooed with a triumphant smirk.

The two sisters lingered at the bar for at least an hour. Cadence continued to order more shots for them while also sipping at her mixed drink at regular intervals. Brígh had no choice but to consume the alcohol lest she dare to face the other woman's wrath, which could be potentially embarrassing. After the fifth round, Brígh had an oddly pleasant warmth coursing through her body and she felt much calmer—something her sister was pleased to note.

Eric watched the two women as they bantered back and forth meaninglessly; shaking his head when they began speaking of personal matters that he figured they would rather he not know. Apparently they had reached the point that they were _tipsy_ enough to forget that they should censor themselves. It was something that tended to happen quite often in this profession. He couldn't even remember how many times perfectly random strangers poured their hearts out to him in their inhibited state over a shot glass.

"Ooh," Cadence said abruptly. "I think I've found tonight's entertainment,"

Brígh cocked her head uncertainly. "… What?"

Cadence sighed. "My sister, so innocent," she lamented before making a slight, inconspicuous gesture near the stage where a handsome young man was watching her unabashed. "Cute guy, over yonder. He's been eyeing me up for the past half hour." She flashed a seductive smile in his direction and stood gracefully. "Eric, would you be a dear and make sure my little sister gets wonderfully smashed?"

Without waiting for him to respond, she had extracted a large sum of money from her clutch purse and slid it over the counter to him, smirking when Brígh sent her a half-hearted glare for doing do.

"Have fun, pumpkin," she sang, and with that, Cadence sauntered away from the bar, soon disappearing among the throng of bouncing and gyrating people.

A bit downhearted that his crush had once again abandoned him in search of another man, Eric still could not help but find amusement at the disgruntled look on the redhead's face. She looked about as pleased as he felt about this new arrangement, though neither of them were particularly surprised by the blond. It was a bit disheartening, though he had known she was out of his league. He chuckled lowly, shaking his head, glancing back up at the other person Cadence had abandoned.

"This is your first time in a club, isn't it?" he observed.

Eric swallowed slightly as he was locked in place by the greenest eyes he had ever seen. He had not taken the time to notice earlier, what with Cadence being her usual distracting self. Brígh was every bit as beautiful as her sister, something he had taken note of straight away, but not in the same was her sister was. She had a more classical look about her. She was a fine specimen, despite the obvious stiff way she held herself, as if she was a skittish kitten just waiting for a predator to attack her. And, Eric thought, she just might be if the eyes drawn to her were anything to go by.

"Am I really that obvious?"

Eric blinked in confusion. "What?" he cleared his throat, belatedly realizing that she was merely responding to his previously asked question. He smiled slightly. "It's just… you seem very uncomfortable," he said. "Honestly, I can't say I blame you, especially since every guy who had come to buy a drink has practically been undressing you with his eyes."

It was possibly the worst thing he could have said, and the young woman stiffened quite suddenly, seeming to draw into herself as she glanced around at the other occupants sitting or standing nearby. And indeed, though unsettling his words were correct, there were quite a few men studying her with a bit too much scrutiny. One even blew her a kiss when he noticed he had her attention.

Brígh held back a shudder of disgust, wanting nothing more than to melt through the floor. Didn't these men have anything better to do? She swallowed what was left of her drink quickly in an attempt to distract herself. It was only one of many she had drank tonight, and although she had been mentally prepared for the taste, she could not help but cringe as she polished it off.

"Lovely," she muttered, swirling her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "Does it always burn like that?"

Eric released a low laugh. "You get used to it eventually. Would you like to try something else?"

"Yes please," she readily agreed. "Perhaps something with lower alcohol content,"

Eric thought on it for a moment, finally deciding on a drink he figured she would like. It was one that Cadence ordered occasionally, when she was in the mood for something with coconut. "So, what was that stuff about a bird with one wing?" he asked conversationally, the way she glanced towards the staircase leading to the street as if she were just waiting for the opportune moment where she could slip away unnoticed going unmentioned.

Brígh sighed, reluctantly returning her attention to him, and she shrugged slightly. "It's nothing really, just an Irish toast for drinking. You say it to encourage someone else to take the second drink."

"Oh," he nodded. "Does that mean you're Irish?'

"What," Brígh smiled wryly. "The red hair doesn't give it away?"

"You don't have much of an accent," he told her. "And not all redheads are Irish, just as not all Irishmen have red hair,"

"Touché," she conceded. "But I do have an accent. I just don't like flaunting it." She warily accepted the tall glass filled with a type of blue slush when he handed it to her, and she sipped it through the colorful straw cautiously at first. It still had a slight burn to it, though it was overpowered by delicate tropical flavors. After a few more testing tastes, she decided that she liked this drink much more than anything Cadence had ordered for her.

"I would like to hear it,"

Brígh looked up in confusion. "Hear what?"

He grinned. "Your accent, I would like to hear it. Say anything,"

The young woman stared at him uncertainly, even as a slow smile crept across her lips unintentionally. She laughed softly, her eyes soft. "You are a strange one," she said, her voice easily slipping into a tone she usually reserved for friends or family, or when she simply lost her temper. She softened the vowels and hardened her consonants. Though her accent was nowhere near the strong brogue her father possessed, it was still distinctive enough. "Sweet, I admit… but strange."

"That is so sexy," Eric replied immediately, smirking when he spotted redness creeping its way onto her pale cheeks, causing her skin to match her hair. "A beautiful woman with a sexy foreign accent," He whistled in appreciation, nodding his head in a slow manner. "No wonder you try to keep that under wraps. Men would be lining up instead of just admiring from afar,"

Brígh laughed at his comment, shaking her head with embarrassment. She covered her face with her hands briefly, looking back up at him with bright eyes. "You _must_ be angling for a tip."

"Not really, just trying to be honest," Eric grinned back at her. "Though I have to admit, I am surprised that no one has come over to ask you for a dance just yet. If I wasn't on duty…" He wriggled his eyebrows at her with a suggestive leer, snickering when she flushed an even darker red, reaching over and pushing at his shoulder. There were worse things he could do than spend an evening flirting with beautiful women, he mused.

Brígh shook her head once more, smiling despite herself. She observed him momentarily. "I can see why Cadence likes you," she said, and he looked at her with surprise. "While we were outside, she told me that if I needed anything, that I should look for Eric because, and I quote, 'he is the best damn bartender in the city, and he is an absolute sweetheart',"

"Aw," His heart fluttered a bit, even though he knew it wasn't meant the way he hoped it was. "You're gonna make me blush,"

"I'm afraid she forgot to mention what a dork you were, though,"

Eric snorted with amusement. "That's me," His attention was momentarily drawn as another customer gestured for him. He motioned that he would be there in one minute with his fingers before turning back to her for a second. "I'll tell you what… since you're obviously uncomfortable here without Cadence, I want you to go talk to that bouncer right there," He gestured to his brother. "His name is D.J. and I want you to tell him that I said you could go to the lounge. I can guarantee it won't be nearly as crowded or as loud." He slid the roll of cash her sister had given him to her. "That last drink was on me."

Brígh made to protest, but he swiftly cut her off.

"I insist. It's your birthday, and you're getting a free drink." He smirked. "Deal with it."

The young woman accepted it with an exasperated sigh, and abruptly leaned over the counter, extended her neck and kissed him gently upon the cheek. She smiled when she pulled back. "Thank you Eric," she said, and he grinned, obviously pleased with himself. He bade her farewell left to help the other customer.

Brígh stood slowly and slipped away, her shoulders set resolutely as she began to walk towards the bouncer she had been directed to. She would stay, if only so her sister would not hunt her down in the morning and go on a long, dramatic spiel about chickening out. Listening to Cadence when she was purposely being annoying was a surefire way to a pounding headache.

Maneuvering through the crowd was proving to be a struggle, and she couldn't help but cringe every time someone bumped into her a little too roughly to be accidental or when they mistakenly decided to pull her against them in an attempt to entice her to dance. It appeared as if she lacked the innate ability to walk through the masses with the same untouchable grace as her sister did.

When Brígh had finally pushed through, she stopped in front of the man, looking up at him with wide eyes. He was quite a bit larger up close, and she had to admit that he was less intimidating as she should have found him, had it not been for her alcohol induced calm. He looked at her briefly, though nothing more than a cursory glance obviously deciding she was inconsequential, before he returned his attention to the rest of the patrons, searching for someone who might be causing trouble.

Brígh sighed inwardly. "Excuse me," she murmured quietly, nervously attempting to pull the skirt of her dress further down her thighs. Either he had not heard her or he was ignoring her. It was difficult to discern, although, admittedly, the music was much louder here, which should be expected considering how much closer to the stage it was. She had to repeat herself, raising her voice above the music, before he gave her his attention. "Are you… are you D.J.?"

At the sound of his nickname, the enormous man turned around, giving her his full attention as he nodded in response to her query. "Yes, I am,"

"Eric said that I could go to the lounge…?" she responded quietly, biting her lip.

The bouncer stared at her for a moment. "Really?" he mumbled, not quite believing her. There were only a select few permitted up there besides family, and he knew every single one of them personally. However a quick glance to the bar, where his brother was waving at him, trying to communicate with hand motions that he had, in fact, sent her over, proved him otherwise. He frowned in surprise. "I guess he did,"

"… If it's too much trouble," she began, and Darryl smiled at her kindly, cutting off her protests with shake of his head.

"No," he chuckled. He was still unsure why his brother would give some girl he probably just met permission to enter the private lounge, though he could hazard a guess. She was, after all, quite pretty. "I'll just have to clear it with my boss first," he told her. "Who is not exactly in an agreeable mood at the moment…" Noting her worried look, he did his best to smile reassuringly at her. "I'm sure he won't mind. Come on, it's this way…"

Brígh followed two steps behind him, immensely pleased to discover that almost everyone moved out of his way. His face was rather fierce and serious, and he was slim but muscular. At least she would not have to worry about getting groped during this short walk this time—he parted the crowd with ease. The crowd did not seem so bad with a bodyguard leading the way.

They soon reached a secluded corner of the club where dark velvet ropes and another bouncer blocked off a spiral staircase made of iron. She smiled uncertainly at the other man as he let them through. As she began climbing up the stairs to the second floor she had not even been aware of, she took notice that the iron had been crafted in such a way that the side rails formed an ornate pattern of interlaced ellipses that crossed and joined at the ends into a symbol she was sure she had seen somewhere before.

The atmosphere of the club seemed to change drastically as they reached the second landing, boarding a catwalk. It was calmer and far less bright, the blaring strobe lights now below their feet. The catwalk led back to the center of the room, directly stationed above the bar. The lounge was more of a well hidden balcony that overlooked the rest of the club inconspicuously. There was a bar, taking up an entire section of the lounge, though much smaller than the one downstairs. The furnishings were placed strategically so that it remained uncluttered, though cozy. Plump suede sofas and high tables were scattered about, the ones nearest the railing angled so that they were facing the stage below.

"Welcome to the lounge," Darryl said proudly, grinning slightly as she gazed around curiously, her body unconsciously relaxing with the calmer surroundings. "Usually only employees or their family can come up here, so you must have made quite the impression on Eric."

"It's very nice up here," she admitted, feeling much more secure now than she had before.

Darryl grinned and instructed her to wait just out of earshot as he approach his intended target. He was pleased to note that Wyatt had apparently slowed down, if only just slightly. The bottle of vodka sitting on the countertop in front of the blond was relatively un touched, and the empty tequila he had taken from downstairs had been pushed to the side. He was still attempting to break some kind of record, though at least he was back to using a tumbler instead of chugging the bottle down whole. And the shot glass he currently held was still half full, Wyatt appeared to be nursing it.

Shaking his head, Darryl poked his friend in the shoulder to get his attention. "Dude," he breathed out, frowning at him entirely unsympathetic as he leaned against the bar. "You know better than to mix alcohol like this. You are seriously going to be regretting it in the morning…"

Wyatt snorted as he rolled the half empty glass between his fingers, watching absently the waves he was creating with the motion. "Probably," he replied uncaringly, taking a sip before finally looking up at him. "But I don't really give a shit at the moment. What do you want, Morris?"

Darryl sighed in response, his concern for the man becoming more prominent. Something really bad must have happened for Wyatt to be acting like an ass. And though he wasn't sure what may have caused this behavior, he did have his suspicions. He wouldn't voice his theory, just in case he was correct, because he knew Wyatt would not appreciate it. This was one storm they would just have to wait out until Wyatt was ready to talk about it.

"Eric wants me to let some girl up here," he told him.

Wyatt lazily finished his drink but otherwise chose not to respond. He poured himself another, just holding it in his hands, before he finally turned to face his friend. He sighed at the disapproving frown, and twisted in his seat, curious despite himself to know who Eric wanted to bend the rules for. She was standing not too far away, arms curled around herself and shifting anxiously.

Observing her closely, Wyatt felt a slight interest stirring at the sight of her unsure face and verdant eyes. She was pretty, certainly, though he rubbed at his chest absently as she met his eyes. His mouth felt a bit dry, though he figured it was due to the alcohol dehydrating him. And by now, he supposed he was suitably drunk enough to consider wanting… company.

After a lingering glance, he turned back and sipped at his drink.

"She can stay," he announced quietly.

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»****End****«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»****Chapter****«·´¯·.¸**

So I finally stopped procrastinating and took down the old version. Those who read that one are sure to notice the similarities and differences, so I hope they like it. The rating and name has changed also, as has the tone of the story itself. This _is not_ the same story with a different style of writing—this is an entirely different story. The _Life… or Something Like It _plot was left unfinished when I was writing it, and it was okay though now I have some fresh ideas and I reworked it and manipulated it into something else.

Lynx


	3. The Encounter

**¸.·´¯·»****Chapter Two****«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»**_The Encounter_**«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

The night seemed to drag on forever.

Brígh was certain that it was nearing the earliest hours of the morning and so far, it seemed as if the crowd below was growing louder and wilder instead of near dying out any time soon. She had long since yielded in her search for her sister among the crowd below, though if she was honest, it was due to the fact that she was more interested in her third tropical drink and peering downstairs was akin to staring at a mass of swirling and bouncing colors that made her stomach churn.

Likewise she had long since abandoned the quiet seat in the corner in favor for one at the bar, her green eyes glued to the large television currently broadcasting the local news station. Apparently some celebrity had been spotted at a nearby café. Her head was resting in her palm as she read the captions of the muted program, her phone sitting out in front of her as she waited for her sister to call or text… give her proof of life, maybe.

The young woman seriously hoped that he sister was just having a good time and had forgotten to reply to any of her messages. She better not have just left her here alone, even if it _was_ something she knew Cadence was capable of… the incident at the zoo when they were in their early teens was a testament to that. There was also the time when Cadence had forgotten her at the park when she was eight, only to be scolded publicly by their father.

Brígh giggled softly at her own thoughts, wondering if the alcohol was making her nostalgic by bringing up long forgotten memories. She was so lost in her own thoughts that when she reached for her drink, she misjudged the distance and ended up tipping the tall glass over with her fingers.

The remainder of her icy slush poured all over the counter, and consequently, down the entire front of her dress in a rather embarrassing way. The cold ice chilled her skin abruptly and she jerked backwards unintentionally at the unexpectedness of it. Incidentally her severe reaction only caused the chair she was sitting on to tilt backwards as well, until she was sprawled out on the floor, the barstool clattering beside her legs.

A sharp pain ignited from where her head had impacted hard with the floor, only enhanced by the sudden dizziness at her loss of vertigo. The rest of her body remained a bit numb despite having hit the floor with the same force as her head had. She laid there slightly stunned by what had just happened.

"… Ouch," she whimpered belatedly.

Before she could move an inch, there were hands on her. Long fingers brushed the loose tendrils of hair out of her unfocused eyes as she was gently lifted into an upright position by a pair of large, muscular arms. Warmth engulfed her, the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood filling her senses as she was held.

It took her a moment to process that someone was attempting to gain her attention, voice speaking to her in soft, soothing tones. She found the words difficult to understand, as if it were another language, but his voice was low, rich and warm. She blinked up at the blurry figure as the noise began to form into words she could recognize.

"… a pretty good knock to the head you took," he was saying. "Are you alright?"

Brígh answered him with a noncommittal sound, because really, she was having a hard enough time hearing at the moment, let alone attempting to form her own coherent sentences. She blinked several more times before her vision finally cleared enough for her to observe the man who was holding her so carefully.

Breath caught in her throat, the very first thing she noticed was that he had the clearest blue eyes she had ever seen on anyone. Two bright jewels which seemed cool and inviting, like chilled water on an unbearably hot day. His hair was dark, not quite a soft brown but not entirely blond either, and it fell down his shoulders in long waves. He had the makings of a beard and mustache due to the lack of shaving for a few days, though the stubble did nothing to hide the prominent dimples at the corners of his mouth.

Due to her position on the floor, she regrettably could not see much of his body, though she could certainly _feel_ him, and it was a very good feeling. He was strong, the muscles in his arms making her feel very safe and secure within their grasp, and she felt comfortable pressed against his broad chest.

It soon became apparent to Brígh, however, that she had been staring at him for perhaps a few moments too long when his dimples became even more noticeable as a smirk slid across his features. She could feel heat rise in her cheeks, flushing at being caught ogling him, though the embarrassment was only half of it. She shifted uncomfortably in his arms, trying valiantly to focus on the matter at hand.

"… I'm wet," the young woman complained quietly, looking down at her ruined dress.

It was still dripping with the remnants of her spilt drink, making the fabric stick to her skin with a cold and sugary residue. In her mind she could already visualize the angry scowl painted across her sister's face for ruining her birthday present, although Brígh had been planning to leave it for the moths to feast on after this night. She was brought out of her musings when she felt the man begin to shake around her.

Brígh focused on his face with concern, and discovered he was trying very hard not to laugh, though obviously failing miserably at it. She quirked an eyebrow at him, confusion in her eyes. "What?"

When he managed to get control of himself, he smiled at her. "There are just too many ways to abuse that statement,"

The redhead tilted her head as she mentally went over what she had said that he apparently found amusing. It had been an unnecessary statement of course, because she had noticeably spilt her drink everywhere, something he had even seen. It was an obvious statement of fact—she was wet.

_Oh_, she thought, suddenly realizing just how her words could be construed to perverted minds. Her cheeks became even more flushed with embarrassment as she closed her eyes, and with her fair completion she imagined that she resembled the color of her sister's car by now.

Brígh let out a startled squeak when she felt herself being lifted abruptly into the air, her arms immediately latching onto strong shoulders in fear of being dropped to the unforgiving ground once again. His chuckles reverberated through his chest, teasing her side which was still trapped against him. He carried her to a nearby sofa and set her down gently.

The man lingered briefly, before he pulled away slowly, leaving for only a moment and returning quickly with a handful of napkins. He sat down on the coffee table opposite of her. "Here," he said gently, pressing a few of the napkins against her stomach to absorb some of the remaining liquid. He obviously thought there was nothing wrong or invasive about what he was doing but a heated blush worked its way all the way up her neck as he attempted to clean her up.

Apparently he just didn't realize he was being so forward or overstepping some boundaries. She studied him carefully, trying to read his intentions. He seemed utterly intent on removing what was left of the drink, nothing more than that. Brígh was breathing heavily as he moved on to the heated skin of her chest, her eyes widening slightly. She desperately tried to soothe her nerves, despite the fact that she was uncomfortably being touched so intimately by a man she didn't even know. But she could not find it in her to object, her mouth oddly glued shut.

"There," he said quietly once he was done, and it did not escape her that his own eyes seemed drawn to her slender neck as she swallowed nervously. He discarded the sullied napkins beside him on the table. "How is the head doing?" he asked in concern.

"… Hurts," she admitted slowly, reaching back to prod at the rather painful bump at the base of her skull. "Could have been worse, I suppose. I think the alcohol is dulling the pain just a little,"

"Or just dulling your reaction to it," he said wryly. "Just how many of those drinks have you had?"

"… Two?" she answered unsurely. "Three?" How many _had _she had?

"Okay," He just nodded. "What is your name?"

"Brígh," she replied. "My name is Brígh. It's spelled a bit like the word _bright_, even though it sounds like brie, which is a time of cheese. I like cheese…"

"Hello Brígh," he replied smoothly, concealing a smile in amusement. She was cute, drunk obviously, but cute. "I am Wyatt. It is spelled exactly how it sounds with an extra 't' on the end, and I am pretty sure that I was named after my father, not a type of cheese. I like cheese too, though," He grinned at her, widening when she replied with a slow smile of her own and a soft laugh. "I like your freckles," he blurted out.

Brígh chewed on her lip. "I don't think anyone has ever used that one before,"

Completely unashamed of his potentially humiliating admission, Wyatt merely smiled widely. "That's because it is incredibly lame and doesn't even deserve a response," he admitted cheekily. "And I think I am already completely smashed, so feel free to ignore every other word that comes out of my mouth."

"… Okay," she agreed softly.

Wyatt smiled. "I haven't seen you around here before," he mentioned, even though he had to admit that even he didn't know half of the clubs clientele. He could recognize a rather sizable portion of course, the ones who frequented here often, and some of the ones who caught his eye because he found them attractive. Someone like Brígh would have caught his eye. She seemed like the type to leave a lasting impression on his memory.

"I've never been here before," Brígh admitted easily. "Never been to any club, for that matter. To be honest, I don't really want to be here _now_… I was blackmailed into it by my sister." Her eyes widened suddenly as she realized _he _was the one the bouncer had referred to as his _boss_. "Not that this place isn't great I like it," she was quick to explain, cringing slightly as the lie slipped past her lips, decidedly unconvincing. She amended, "I like it up here, at least,"

Wyatt struggled not to laugh, far from feeling insulted. "Not one for the clubbing scene," he guessed.

"No, not at all," she said, relieved. "The music okay, a little loud, but I like the band. It's the people…"

"That make you feel uncomfortable," he deducted with a nod. "I understand, it can get pretty rowdy down there. Why do you think we built the lounge? It's like our own personal haven away from the ravenous crowd," He grinned in success when she giggled slightly. "And just so you know, you are welcome up here any time your sister decides to blackmail you into coming here again,"

"Oh, you don't have to—"

Wyatt shook his head, meeting her eyes seriously. "I insist," he said softly.

"… Thank you," Brígh said, smiling at him in wonderment.

Another hour passed by, though much too quickly for his liking. Wyatt was strangely elated to have someone to converse with, someone who was not judging him or criticize him about his shortcomings or accomplishments. It was refreshing. He knew that his friends and family meant well but they had a habit of crowding him and trying to draw the answers out of him when he just wanted to work things out on his own.

Brígh had yet to do that, though partially because she was unaware of his incredibly stupid and immature way of handling the crisis he was in. Their conversation consisted mainly of the most mundane things about themselves, ranging from their favorite movies to their least favorite ice cream flavors. Brígh seemed to want to keep her personal life just as private as he did, although he would not object should she feel the need to open up more.

Eventually he had succeeded to wrangle out the reason she was here tonight, wanting a bit of elaboration on how exactly she was _blackmailed _into attendance, and once he had discovered it was her birthday, he just had to order her another drink on the house to celebrate. He knew that they should slow down, however unwillingly, and made sure to order some glasses of water as well.

At some point he had moved from his perch on the coffee table to sit beside her on the sofa, and eventually he had somehow managed to move in such a way that he was laying down, his head resting on the top of her smooth, creamy thigh, his right leg thrown over an armrest while the other rested on the floor. His eyes were closed as her gentle fingers carded through his long hair, smoothing out the tangles.

Neither of them were quite sure what the time was at this point. All sense of time seemed to escape them, lost in the moment and contented atmosphere held between them. Wyatt was much too comfortable in her lap to be bothered to check the watch secured around his wrist, and he couldn't bring himself to worry about how he could be so relaxed against a stranger he had met only hours ago.

It must have been nearing closing time, however, as the sheer volume of the cloud steadily began to decrease, meaning it was likely already in the early hours of the morning. He _really_ didn't want to move, however, much too content to just stay in this position and never move for the rest of his life.

_Oh yeah_, he thought. _I am toasted…_

Honesty his reluctance to move had nothing to do with a lack of energy to pull himself away from her. He simply lacked the motivation and willpower to do so. It may have just been his muddled mind, but he could not remember the last time someone allowed him to rest against them like this while he spoke about everything, and nothing, utter nonsense and his most profound thoughts.

It was nice, and just as he wished her to be more open with him, Wyatt was more than tempted to speak about more serious matters with her. He physically had to bite his tongue several times to quell the urge, her blown wide pupils with a smidge of green around them making it difficult to reign in the desire to be honest with her.

Honest about things he still could not even bring himself to talk to his family about, such as what had been plaguing him for the past few days. It would be so easy to tell her. She would be sympathetic, might even shed a tear or two on his behalf, and she would comfort him without pity or the need to smother him. As much as he would love to tell her, tell her everything about him and his life and his family, because he had a feeling she would love them just as much as he did, he also knew that he was incredibly drunk off his ass.

Wyatt had always been a talkative drunk, and it would be a horribly bad idea to lament his entire life story to a virtual stranger, no matter how tempting it was. He had secrets to keep. Dark family secrets that were not only _his _to keep, secrets that had the potential to be dangerous and devastating to the ones he loved. He had been down this road before, with women he had dated in the past, or friends who had been suspicious about what was really going on in his life.

So even though he was not exactly censoring himself on the little, insignificant things he was telling her, Wyatt did have enough sense and self-preservation to avoid bringing up certain topics.

"Hey," a soft murmur met his ears, and he opened his eyes lazily, breath catching in his throat as luminous, emerald eyes gleamed down at him. He sighed in contentment as her fingernails scratched softly at his scalp. "You went away," she said quietly.

"Sorry," he replied, realizing that he must have been silent for a moment too long. "Where were we?"

Brígh smiled tiredly. "It is your turn…"

Wyatt nodded, his brows furrowing in thought as he returned his attention onto the verbal game they had been playing. He likened it to a game he had played when he was younger, _twenty questions. _Only in this version there seemed to be no limit on how many questions they were asking, and the two had long since abandoned the actual _asking_ and had gone straight to answering.

Brígh seemed as if she had no intention quitting on him any time soon, and he was grateful because he could already feel their time together was coming to a close. He wished it could go on forever, no matter how unrealistic that notion was. Wyatt sighed inwardly, shaking himself from his own thoughts as he floundered for something to tell her… something inconsequential.

"I hate popcorn," he told her finally, seeing as it was a safe subject. "My very first job was at a movie theater, and I worked there for almost two years. Every day, for hours and hours at a time, I would have to make the popcorn, clean up popcorn, and breathe the popcorn in. I would come home smelling like it," He wrinkled his nose. "Even after showering, and the butter—the butter is just flavored oil, and it is impossible to wash off the first time,"

"… I love popcorn,"

"Hey," he narrowed his eyes up at her teasingly. "You can't answer the same question! It's cheating,"

"Fine," Brígh shook her head, the corners of her eyes wrinkling with mirth. "I dislike chocolate cake."

"That's… that's blasphemy!" Wyatt cried out in dramatic disbelief. "What is wrong with you woman?"

Brígh smiled at his scolding tone. "I just don't like it," she replied.

Wyatt shook his head sadly. "That's it. You are coming with me to _Charmed _one day. It is time to reeducate you on what _real _chocolate cake should taste like," he practically huffed. "You have obviously been deprived of the good stuff as a child, so we will have to introduce you to the best cake in the city,"

"It won't change anything," she sang, pausing a moment later. "Were you talking about the restaurant, _Charmed_?"

"Yep,"

Brígh raised an eyebrow at him, smiling slightly. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get in there? I have only been there once, and even then it was only because my mother booked our reservation two month in advance. I would be all for it, of course, even if it meant chocolate cake, but you would have to call in the reservation a few months early,"

Wyatt only smiled, a strange flutter in his heart. "So I'll meet you there tomorrow? Say around lunch time?"

"… You expect me to believe that you have a reservation there for tomorrow?"

"No," he shrugged. "But I could get us a table,"

"No," Brígh argued. "You couldn't. It's impossible, believe me, I've _tried_!"

Wyatt chuckled at her. He could, in fact, simply waltz inside of the upscale restaurant in a pair of ratty jeans and a stained shirt and be escorted to their best table, even if she was having difficulty believing him. He decided to let the matter drop for now. "My turn, isn't it? I have a sword collection," he told her proudly, and amended a moment later, "Well… _my brother _ and _I _have a sword collection. We collect more than just swords though. We have maces, daggers, a few whips… even some armor and chainmail, and some really neat shields."

"Medieval nerd," she accused softly.

"I'm awesome. Admit it."

Brígh laughed quietly. "Of course, Wyatt, you are just so awesomely awesome."

"Keep it coming," he said impishly.

For a moment, she could only frown in confusion, and then she delivered a flick to his ear as she realized what he meant. "Oh Wyatt, you are so amazingly smart, and oh so kind. I do not deserve to be in your noble presence," she gushed dramatically, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice. He grinned, laughing with her until he noticed she had fallen silent, her features softening into an unidentifiable look.

For some reason it was making his palms sweat and his throat bob as he swallowed the sudden thickness lodged inside, staring up at her uncertainly. Her own face was gentle, soft pink lips curled into a barely noticeable smile, her eyes bright and smiling at him. She grazed his cheek with her fingertips gently, gliding down the raised stubble until she reached the underside of his jaw. He reached up and caught her hand, absently twining their fingers together though his eyes never left hers. Her hands were incredibly soft, he noted, so much unlike his own calloused hands.

"Tickles," he murmured.

Brígh smiled at him. "You are very smart you know," she whispered. "Smart, and kind… and far too charming for your own good,"

The seriousness in her voice made his swallow again. "… You forgot _handsome_," he said quietly, trying to make light of the situation again, if only to regain control over his hormones which were obviously taking her words to heart. This had not been his intention, not with her. He exhaled silently. "I am extremely handsome too,"

Brígh laughed in a breathlessly, tired sort of way. "Handsome," she repeated indulgently. "I think,"

"… You think?" Wyatt grinned, amusement lacing his tone, thankful for her choice of words to abolish the seriously direction they seemed to have unintentionally gone in their conversation. "I am not entirely sure that was a real compliment, my lady,"

Brígh smiled again, and with her free hand she delicately rubbed against her closed eyelids with soft fingertips. "It was, you are very handsome. Sorry," she sighed. "I am just a little tired right now, and it is a bit difficult to get more than a vague impression when you are seeing double." She opened her eyes, tilting her head to observe him. "You have blond hair… a bit on the darker side. More of a honey brown," She twisted one of his long waves around a finger. "You are strong, and tall… and you have the most beautiful blue eyes…"

Wyatt shifted slightly, pressing his cheek to the top of her thigh as he attempted to control himself. "And I think you have had a little too much to drink," he told her in a quiet voice. He should have left it alone, because there was only so much a man could take when being complimented by a beautiful young woman.

"Your fault," she told him, resuming her previous task of messaging his scalp with her fingertips. It felt too good, and his eyes fluttered closed briefly, body betraying him. "You bought me another fruity thing,"

Wyatt studied her regretfully. "Maybe it is time we call it a night," he suggested, reluctance and urgency warring with each other. She hummed in agreement, though made no move to cease her gentle ministrations. A sigh was unwilling torn from him, his hand spasming around hers as he relaxed more thoroughly into her, the warmth from her soft body and the pleasant buzz of alcohol making him lethargic. "You are going to make me fall asleep if you keep this up," he whispered hoarsely.

"Sorry," she apologized, her voice lacking sincerity.

Wyatt chuckled, realizing he was the one who was going to have to move or they would never leave. So with a heavy heart, he released his hold on her hand, reaching for the other one playing with his hair instead before she managed to absorb all of his strength through her touch. He gathered his feeble energy and extracted himself from her, a strange loss settling in the pit of his stomach with the loss of contact. With a deep, calming breath, he extended a hand, pleased when she placed her own small hand inside of his.

As he helped her to her feet, he miscalculated the amount of force needed to hoist her up, and she stumbled into his broad chest. He quickly grasped her shoulders in an attempt to steady her, idly licking his dry lips as he discovered that her smooth, pale flesh was so invitingly warm beneath his palms. He closed his eyes briefly, a mantra of _badthoughts, badthoughts_, _badthoughts, _ringing throughout his skull. He released her as soon quickly as possible, as if her skin burned him, taking a hasty step back as he released haggard breath.

It had to be an involuntary reaction, the quickening of his heart, by being so close to her. His blood felt as if it had caught fire, a burning igniting in the pit of his stomach. It raged inside of him. The alcohol was undoubtedly clouding his judgment, and he licked his parched lips once more, trying desperately to think of anything other than the warmth of her skin beneath his hands. He had to calm himself down, to prevent himself from doing something they were both sure to regret come tomorrow.

The young man was far from a saint. He had enjoyed the company of many women in his adult life. He smiled a charismatic smile, caressed an arm while speaking in smooth, hypnotic tones. He said exactly what they wanted to hear to satisfy his own needs. This right now, however, was not what he wanted. Not now. Not with her.

It would be so easy to make her want him, he knew it would be. She was already attracted to him. He knew exactly what to say to make women throw themselves at him, because she was right, he was too charming for his own good when he wanted to be. She was so intoxicated that she would probably be even more receptive to the idea. He could admit to himself that he wanted to.

Wyatt had come here to loose himself in his sorrows, however, and no matter how tempting it would be to loose himself in the presence of a beautiful and understanding woman, he was trying desperately not to defile the sincere innocence she seemed to possess. Brígh deserved more than that, especially from him.

It was rare for him to be so genuinely interested in someone. He would hate to ruin this before he even got a real chance to know her. Therefore even though something inside of his was urging him to stay as close to this woman as physically possible, he made sure to keep a bit of distance between them as they descended from the lounge. It was not helpful to find that his lungs were still full of her soft scent or that his scalp still tingled from her touch.

Damn his mother for making him so noble.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her, opening his mouth to suggest that they get a cab together. Neither of them were in any state to drive right now and besides, Wyatt had absolutely no intention of letting a young, beautiful woman travel home alone, especially not when she was even half as intoxicated as he was. Only before he could voice his suggestion, she was already moving away from him, her green eyes scanning the few and far between people lingering in the club, a slight pinch to her brows.

Brígh bit her bottom lip uncertainly, lowering her head as a downhearted sigh escaped her. She curled into herself, arms wrapping around her midsection as she turned back to him, still studying the floor. "Thank you for the company," she said quietly, voice tinged with a sadness that made his chest ache. "Goodnight."

Before Wyatt even had a chance to possibly think of returning the sentiment, the young woman had turned her heel and had already begun the journey up the stairwell that led to the street above. His brain finally caught up with him, and he hurried to catch her before she got too far away, only slowing from the light jog he had broken into once he was striding right beside her.

"Trying to ditch me?" he asked, a hand over his heart as he pouted.

Brígh smiled reluctantly as she glanced at him. "Of course not," she said. "My house is not too far away from here… you shouldn't bother yourself. I'll be fine."

It made him frown to think that she thought of herself as a bother. He would have to remedy that. "Don't be ridiculous," he admonished. He smiled softly at her when she looked over to him in question. "It goes against my nature to just let you walk through downtown by yourself at," He glanced at his watch, cringing as the digits glared back at him. "Four in the morning… for one, my mother would kill me if she ever found out that I let your do that," He shuddered at the thought.

Brígh arched an eyebrow at him curiously. "You actually sound serious,"

"Oh, I am," he nodded earnestly. "Not even just my mom who would have my hide either. My cousins and my sister would be utterly pissed off, and don't even get me _started_ on my brother," He rolled his eyes dramatically, grinning in success when she laughed.

It was then he noticed the slight tremor in her frame, a realized that while it would probably be mostly dried by now, her dress was still at least damp from her earlier spill. The night air was rather chilled this time of year as well. He unzipped his own jacket and shrugged out of it without another thought, twisting it around and draping it across her bare shoulders. He watched her reaction carefully.

Brígh appeared startled at first, her eyes widening at the gesture as if she was unsure what to make of it. He was pleased to note, however, that once she got over the initial uncertainty that she made no protest to the jacket, and was in fact pulling it around her slim body snugly to bask in the pleasant warmth. He turned away quickly to hide his smile.

Brígh, however, made no move to hide her own. "Thank you."

All was quiet as they continued to walk. It was a comfortable silence, just the sound of their own feet scuffing against the cement, the sound of cars passing them by on the street beside them. It took all of fifteen minutes before Wyatt frowned, suddenly realizing that he actually recognized the street he was on. It took him a few more minutes of searching his own thoughts before he remembered why.

"My cousin lives around here," he commented idly, looking around with interest. He had never actually been down this street, just seen it from the wide windows of the apartment. This district housed a majority of the city's towering skyscrapers and lush penthouse apartments. The implications of that were obvious to him… Brígh was entirely out of his league. He never had a chance. "Which building are you in?"

"Just around the corner," she assured him. "Thank you for walking me home,"

Wyatt could not resist the urge to touch her, so he laced their fingers together once again, tugging her closer so that their shoulders brushed against each other. "My pleasure," he told her. "So, I never asked, and sorry if this is invasive but… were you at the club alone? I know you said that you had been blackmailed into going but…"

"… No, not alone," she sighed. "My sister was there with me."

Wyatt kept his tone light, hoping not to portray just how upset he was to hear her say that. "She just left you there?"

"Cadence… is not the most responsible older sibling in the world," Brígh told him softly, pulling the jacket around her more securely. She bit her lip. "Most people are under the misconception that I am older than her because I am… a bit more… focused, I suppose."

Wyatt nodded silently, tightening his fingers around hers briefly while he shoved his other hand in his pocket to hide the fact that he had clenched it into a fist. He was irrationally angry with a woman he had never even met. He sighed inwardly as he forced the anger away for the moment, deciding he would contemplate it some other time.

"I love her," Brígh continued quietly. "She is my big sister, and I know she didn't mean to do it. She knew I didn't want to be there to begin with, so she probably just assumed that I had already left before her. If she did bother to look, it isn't as if she would have known to look in an _exclusive lounge_ for me."

Wyatt had to concede that she had a point. Her sister would have had a difficult time searching for her in the lounge, besides the fact that it was reserved for employees and their families, it was also near impossible to even see above the bright, flashing lights. Brígh was just the exception, due to Eric and himself.

Although there were still other ways to ensure that Brígh had managed to get home safely that her sister had obviously neglected. For instance, giving her a phone call would have sufficed. He had noticed that the redhead had checked her cellular phone periodically throughout the night, though he had not broached the subject because he did not enjoy the disappointment on her face, instead changing the subject in attempts to make her smile.

_Cadence must have been out of her mind_, Wyatt mused thoughtfully, _to leave her sister alone in a club full of strange men just waiting to take advantage of her inebriated state. _And he should know, because even if he was desperately trying not to let his thoughts drift, he was still one of _those men_.

It was a difficult task to keep his attention only on her voice as she spoke, his eyes constantly drawn towards her lips with each word. Her lips were not shiny with sticky gloss or stained with lipstick, unlike most of the women he knew. Just pillow soft and naturally pink… idly, he wondered if they were really as soft as they appeared.

_Bad thoughts, Wyatt, bad thoughts…_

Finally reaching the end of the street, they turned and began approaching the door, and Wyatt was grateful for the distraction. He was impressed to find an elderly man wearing a regal suit and tie waiting to open the doors, which themselves were made entirely of glass. He glanced up the the building, his eyes widening involuntarily at the impressive height of the building.

"Good morning, Miss Rowan," the man greeted evenly as he grasped the gleaming handle with a white glove. He was obviously very professional, and very discreet, because he made no comment on the fact that she had been gone a majority of the night, nor did he make to acknowledge the fact that there was an unfamiliar man accompanying her home. Wyatt followed behind her as she entered, unsure what he should do from that point.

Brígh returned the gentleman's greeting with a pleasant smile as they entered. She was very aware that Wyatt had followed her inside. She watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye, smile widening as he took in the extravagant interior of the apartment lobby with a cursory glance before he walked with her to the elevator. She closed her eyes briefly as he rested his hand on the small of her back as they entered.

"I'll just walk you to your door," he said in response to her silent question.

During the entirely too long elevator ride up to the fifteenth floor, he began to move his hand along her back boldly, unaware of the fact that the gentle tough was sending electricity throughout her entire body. His mere touch alone was enough to inspire thoughts she very rarely entertained. His gaze _burned _her, seared into her senses as he played with a stray curl at the base of her neck.

Silver doors released a soft chime as the elevator finally reached her floor, and together they stepped out. He had not even registered the sound, and only knew to move when she began drawing away from him. He was too entranced, even as he fought an internal battle with himself, trying to remember why exactly walking her to her room would be a bad idea. His thoughts bounced around inside of his head as he debated his wants with reality.

Brígh did not know him, and yet he felt as if she knew him better than most. He should not have offered to walk her home, he was intruding… but if she didn't want him here, surely she would have told him? She seemed like the kind of woman who spoke her mind. She was obviously very wealthy to live here, entirely out of his league… she was probably the type of woman who cared little for monetary value rather than personality. She was an innocent, she was _innocent_… he would hate to defile that innocence for one selfish night of intoxicated passion.

More and more reasons came to mind, warring with him to turn around now before he ended up doing something incredibly stupid. Yet as they approached her door, all coherent thought eluded him, mind oddly silent and his nerves burned with anticipation. He was out of excuses now, out of time. He held his breath as she turned around to face him, the smile on her face absolutely breathtaking, her emerald eyes vulnerable and uncertain.

Wyatt could not contain himself.

Throwing caution to the wind, the young man took a deliberate step closer to her, slowly backing her against the door until they were flush against each other, her soft breasts pressed against the hard planes of his chest. He relished in the intimate touch, her unsteady breath teasing his chin as his hands lifted to gently grasp her arms. He could feel the slight tremble as he gauged her reaction carefully. He had to be absolutely certain that she wanted this as much as he did.

Brígh made no protest, and their eyes never broke contact as he slowly used a hand to brush a soft, unruly curl behind her ear, his fingertips lingering feather light upon her porcelain cheek. Propriety long since forgotten, he leaned in steadily, brushing his lips first across her forehead in a gentle way. Her gasp was like fuel, and swallowed the last of his nerves.

Lowering further, he pressed butterfly kisses on her temple, parted lips gliding down the bridge of her nose. Her eyes had fallen closed beneath the treatment, and he finally descended upon her lips, determined to discover if they were indeed as soft as they appeared. And they were—so incredibly soft and inquisitive even with the gentle, barely there pressure he was applying.

Brígh tasted of coconut, most likely from the tropical drinks she had been consuming, and beneath that he could taste spearmint. As he deepened the kiss, he felt her respond tentatively and his heart soared. His hands drifted from her cheek to slide along her neck, giving himself the leverage he needed to delve even deeper, and his other hand desperately sought purchase around her waist.

Bright herself was lost in a raging sea of foreign emotions and consuming feeling she could not recall having ever experienced before. His arm tightened around her waist ever so slightly, and action she was grateful for because at any given moment she was sure her legs would fail her. Being so close to him, surrounded by his warmth and the comforting scent of sandalwood… it made her feel lightheaded and weak.

The tip of his tongue brushed against the seam of her lips searchingly, and she moaned involuntarily at the strange feeling it aroused, only to gasp as it pushed inside to tangle with her own. She relinquished any and all control of the intimate act to him completely, her inexperience forcing her to let him guide her in the act.

Only when it became apparent that they both needed to breath did he finally release her captive lips, though he kept his hand right where they were, his body still leaving no inch of her untouched.

Time seemed suspended as his forehead came to rest upon her own while they each sought to catch their breath, emeralds and sapphires clashing with widely dilated pupils. His eyes reminded her so very much of the ocean, especially in this moment. She felt as if she could swim in his eyes, trapped in a powerful current that was pulling her deeper and deeper in.

Earlier she could recall his eyes being clear and calm, a bright blue, but now they were dark and foreboding, mysterious and intriguing, and murky with an unnamed emotion.

"… Brígh,"

Brígh closed her eyes against the sound, the way he whispered her name, his voice breathless and hoarse, borderline hopeless and pleading for _something, anything_ made her body shiver, and it had nothing to do with the cold. If anything she was certain her body was overheated by being so close to him. It was utterly captivating.

Trembling slightly, her arms lifted of their own accord, rising to grasp at the back of his neck to give him a slight tug down, in order to close the few inches remaining between their lips. It seemed to be all the permission and incentive he needed and she surrendered to the powerful and overwhelming feelings he inspired.

All she could focus on was Wyatt as he surrounded her with his fervent presence. She was acutely aware of the way his fingertips were suddenly trailing down her sides, brushing against her hips before he finally hooked his hands beneath her thighs, and she was forced to wrap her arms around his neck more securely as she was suddenly lifted up, her legs inevitably wrapping around his waist to keep aloft.

Apparently the new position placed her bared neck and collarbone in perfect reach for his mouth, and she whimpered softly as he took full advantage of that fact, his mouth hot as he bean sucking and licking and biting at her soft skin with the clear intention of marking her.

A soft sound, barely even audible, penetrated her erratic thoughts, soft and gentle, distantly reminding her of some type of wind chime or possibly a small bell ringing in the background. She only thought on it briefly because butterflies suddenly erupted inside of her stomach so abruptly that she had trouble remembering how to breathe, let alone register the sudden lack of door against her back.

Brígh felt as if she was being pulled in every direction all at once, her body tingling with sensation, lost in a moment that consumed her and made everything go into a haze. The feeling was decidedly odd, leaving her gasping once her stomach finally calmed, though it had not been entirely unpleasant. She opened her eyes, dazed and uncertain. _What was that…?_

For the life of her, Brígh had no idea how they had managed to get into her apartment, apparently having been so lost in sensation that she had not noticed but she could not bring herself to care because the next thing she knew, he had pulled away from her neck and she had begun to remove his shirt. Her bright eyes drank in the sight of his finely chiseled muscles, her own fingers exploring his defined chest tentatively as he carried her through the apartment, obviously seeking out the bedroom.

Slowly he released her at the foot of the bed, gravity pulling her down while he caught the hem f her dress with his hands, consequently causing it to ride up her thighs and eventually her waist as she was deposited safely onto the ground. The fabric was trapped between them as he kissed her again, his hands insistently pushing his jacket from her shoulders, pulling back only to continue to remove the dress, raising it off of her.

Brígh shivered when she was freed of the dress, bare save for her miniscule undergarments. She steadied her nervous breaths, and he allowed her hands to freely inspect his broad shoulders and to delicately trace his toned abdomen, the muscles pleasantly contracting as her fingers made contact. He had a scar on his chest, and angry scar that ran from the left side of his collar to his ribs in a diagonal slash. He groaned deeply when she brushed her lips against the scarred flesh tenderly.

Wyatt pulled her away from the imperfection to kiss her deeply, burrowing his hands into her hair. There was no need for words at the moment, save for the occasional breathless declaration of _beauty _and _mine_ from him along with a few choice profanities. He backed her up until the backs of her knees were pressed against the edge of the mattress, not relenting until they both tumbled down onto it.

Pulling back, supporting his own weight with his elbows, a burning desire ignited inside of him at the sight of her dark red hair spread out over the sheets. Her chest was moving frantically as she inhaled and exhaled, trying to regain her breath even as he bent down to kiss her softly once more. Catching her eye deliberately, he moved once again to her inviting neck, grinning against her skin when she gasped. She held on to him desperately as she was overtaken by her own senses.

It too him several minutes before he was finally satisfied with the dark blemish marring her flesh, the mark resting at the junction of her neck, red and shining at the moment. It would make a lovely bruise. He delved even lower, kissing a small birthmark located at the top of her left breast as he divested her of her simple black bra, his other hand still roaming down her waist and lower stomach.

Darkened blue eyes took in the sight of her bare chest appreciatively, and he lowered his head, attaching himself to the creamy skin, sucking and nipping and teasing the underside of her breast with his tongue. He brazenly mouthed hot, openmouthed kisses against her apparently sensitive ribcage, effectively driving her mad with sensations. Her hands tangled in his hair, her moans ringing in his ears as he lost himself.

For an untold amount of time, Wyatt tortured her delicate senses, enjoying every little desperate moan and gasp he managed to elicit from her on his venture of exploring her body. He continued further down much later, paying particular attention to the low dip of her navel, pausing only when he reached the edge of her underwear. He inhaled the scent of her deeply, tracing the elastic band with his tongue before he sought her eyes.

Brígh had her head tossed to one side, hands still lost in the tangled mess of his hair.

Wyatt pressed a gentle kiss just below her bellybutton as he waited patiently for her to realize he had stopped. He promised himself that he would back away if she had second thoughts no matter how beside himself he was to be with her right now, to be one with her so completely that no one would ever be able to separate them. He wanted that more than he ever wanted anything, and though he could not be certain that this was not only fueled by the alcohol still coursing through their bloodstreams, he hoped that she wanted it too.

Finally she lifted her head, confusion on her face as to why he had stopped. Her pupils were blown wide, evergreen irises a barely visible ring, though nonetheless burning with passion and lust. A slow smile spread across his lips, enraptured by the arousing sight. His heart swelled as she smiled back at him tenderly, and he had his answer. He carefully began pulling the garment down her slim hips…

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»****End****«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»****Chapter****«·´¯·.¸**

… and you can all just use your imaginations for the rest because that is as far as I am willing to go at this juncture, seeing as this story is rated _mature_ and not _NC-17_. I think it was descriptive enough that you got the gist of what happens next. It's understandable if some of you think this was a bit of a strong opening to the story, though I assure it was necessary for the plot. Scenes like this will be a long way off in the future, and after this chapter the relationship will be slow building. Hopefully I haven't scared anyone away.


	4. The Photograph

**¸.·´¯·»****Chapter Three****«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»**_The Photograph_**«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

The young man couldn't be sure if it was the rather offensive sunlight flittering through the half-open curtains or the incessant pounding within the confines of his own skull that caused him to reluctantly open his eyes. Whatever the reason was, he was now regretting the decision and wished that he could have just well enough alone and stayed asleep. It was pure and unadulterated agony that he was feeling and he thought that death might have been a much kinder fate. He vowed then and there that he would never drink again, or at least not to mix alcohol.

Being one of the owners of the hottest nightclub in town, he was no stranger to hangovers… but what in the world had possessed him to drink himself into oblivion last night? Honestly, he wasn't even sure he wanted to know because he already knew the most likely answer. And really, it would not be worth the agony he was putting his head through while attempting to remember—his head was already throbbing and he had no desire to make it ache even more. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

Almost instinctively he reached out to pull the coverlet up, intending to hide his blood-shot eyes beneath its relatively safe confines for as long as he possibly could. It didn't quite register that his bedroom window could not have possibly lit up his entire room like this because not only was it small and covered by the bushes of the backyard, seeing as his bedroom was in the basement, but he also had a west facing window. However as he pulled on the covers, his tired and wary mind _did_ register the fact that he was met with a protest…

… of the _vocal_ inclination.

Wyatt stilled his movements instantly, suddenly wide awake and acutely aware that whoever just moaned was most definitely _not_ his fiancée—because his fiancée had a voice that sounded almost breathless no matter what she said and after dating her for nearly six years he knew exactly how all of her little sighs and moans and groans sounded, and this… this was softer, and nothing like her. This voice was even more feminine, so utterly soft and pleasant… but, once again, _most definitely not his fiancée!_

The young man closed his eyes in a grimace, his mind reeling. How could he have done this? Wyatt was no saint by any means, and he'd had his fair share of one night stands before… but if there was one thing he had always prided himself on, it was that when he committed to a woman, he never strayed. He was always faithful. So what in the hell was going on? He resisted the urge to bolt upright abruptly, to get away from… whoever this was... as quickly as possible. It would not only manage to send even more waves of agony throughout his skull but it would likely wake her.

Instead of following through with his initial reactions, he took a few moments to breathe, to calm himself before he slowly lifted his head slightly, blinking against the bright rays of the sun. Blue eyes were draw to the woman nestled comfortably against his side. The black satin sheets covered most of her undoubtedly bare body, tangled in them as she was, and her pale ivory skin contrasted beautifully with the material, as did her dark burgundy hair. He could only see a glimpse of her face at this angle—soft and lovely, though aristocratically detailed.

Wyatt felt his heart constrict painfully as the events of the past few days came back to the forefront of his mind, and he allowed his head to drop back onto the soft, feathery pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly with his free hand, and let out a long, heavy breath.

He felt horrible.

Not only did he feel shitfaced from apparently drinking the entire bar last night, he also felt like a right jerk because it took him at least ten minutes of lying in this position, deep in thought and wracking his brain, before he managed to remember the young woman's name. _Brígh…_ it was such an unusual name, and an interesting one at that. He resisted the sudden urge to test how it sounded on his own tongue now that he was sober, though he stopped himself because speaking would only awaken the slumbering beauty tucked so close to him.

Not moments later did the young man bite his tongue to keep from groaning as the slim, feminine body pressed even closer to him, one tone leg sliding over his as her arm snaked over his bare chest. He clenched his eyes closed and attempted to think of _unpleasant _thoughts to stave off his body's involuntary reactions to her, because apparently other parts of him had no problem remembering her even if his brain had been reluctant.

Wyatt tried not to notice how her scent was intertwined so completely with his own—something subtle and undeniably sweet mixed with the sandalwood of his body soap, the taste of coconut and cherries still teasing his tastebuds. Her body was marked by him in almost every possible way, he realized as bits and pieces of their activities together came to him. It made him unexplainably possessive.

Every soft touch of her fair flesh again his own lightly tanned skin ignited a fire inside of him that was refusing to die down, and he knew that he had to get out of her reach before he felt the need to reenact everything he could scarcely recall about last night. Therefore he gently removed her arm from his chest and slid out from beneath her as slowly and quietly as possible, wanting to regain his control before he even attempted to wake her.

Normally after trysts like these he would leave without waking them, because the women he usually went home with were only after the mutual satisfaction and expected him to leave the next morning. On the rare occasion his partners had woken before him and instigated round two, though generally he tended to scout for women that expected him to leave so he could avoid this very situation. This was the awkward morning after, _this_ is what he tried to avoid.

For some odd reason, though, he couldn't bring himself to treat this as just a one night stand. He had honestly only wanted to walk her home last night, because the streets could be dangerous and deadly and she had planned on walking alone. It went against his every instinct not to protect her. Not to mention he felt absolutely terrible for taking advantage of her drunken state—never mind the fact that he had been even more intoxicated than she had.

Wyatt watched with regretful eyes as Brígh curled up into the space he had just vacated, her face serene and content in a way he could remember last night. Her hair was a wild jungle of curls that tumbled over the pillow beneath her head, and he admired the vibrant color of it in the sunlight before he moved to shut the curtains to keep the light from disturbing her before he was ready. Ready to wake her, and then… well he wasn't exactly sure what he would do after that point.

Once he was absolutely certain that she would be comfortable, his bare feet padded quietly upon the mahogany floors as he sought out his clothing. He was able to locate his boxers and jeans easily enough but where his shirt remained was a mystery to him. Wyatt resisted to let out an impressed whistle as he continued the hunt for his shirt. The apartment looked like something is uncle would buy, and if anything could be said about his uncle, it was that the man had good tastes. The floors were all wooden, though there were ornate rugs in various places in the den, and the furniture was both comfortable and stylish. Some of the walls, particularly those surrounding the bedroom and the kitchen, were made of a type of glass brick that still obscured what was hidden behind it until they merely resembled vague shapes. As he had guessed, she must have been quite wealthy to live in a place such as this.

Finally giving up on the missing garment, he went off in search of the bathroom so he could relieve himself, and he thanked whatever deity listening that he was not nauseous, although the pounding in his head could use some respite. The young man was pleased to find that she had asprin in her medicine cabinet, and eagerly snatched up the bottle. Unfortunately it would be a while off before the effects of it would kick in. He found a plastic cup near the sink and filled it up with cool water, and took the bottle of medicine to the bedroom, setting them by the bedside table. He was just about to wake her, went he felt a buzz in his mind that had nothing to do with the remnants of last night's excursion.

Wyatt tensed slightly at the oddness of it though with what went on in his life he rarely found anything startling enough to scare him. He listened intently, somewhat expecting to hear a voice or something similar. For a moment he thought that he may have just imagined it, though he soon felt it again, and a frown worked its way onto his face. It wasn't a _sound_, exactly… more of a presence, and the more he concentrated, trying to pinpoint what it was and where it originated, the more his head ached. It was faint, almost nonexistent.

However the odd occurrence was soon forgotten as he heard the familiar trill of his cell phone, and he scrambled to find it before the loud, blaring ringtone woke Brígh. He was able to locate his jacket thanks to the annoying sound that currently made his head spin, and he quickly answered it before stumbling out of the bedroom quickly as he watched for any sign of movement. "What?" he answered quietly, before he was harshly reminded of the fact that he had not bothered to answer his phone for over four days now. He winched at the sound of his brother's concerned voice as the younger man demanded to know that if he was alright. He cursed the hangover for his sensitive eardrums as he tried to placate him with a simple, "I'm fine, Chris,"

"_Fine? You're fine! Where the hell have you been, Wyatt?_"

"… Chris,"

"_I got a call last night saying that you were at the club, and another one that said you were there till about four this morning,_" his brother continued, concern and anger warring in his voice. "_And I figured that meant that you would be home by now! Where are you? Do you know how worried everyone is? How worried I am? It's been four days, Wyatt… four days. And you didn't even have the decency to inform anyone that you were alright, or even still alive…_"

Wyatt closed his eyes with remorse as his brother's voice tapered off, feeling even more guilty because Chris had lost the anger in his voice and was now quiet and solemn. Hurt. If there was one thing that Wyatt had always hated, was when his brother was hurting. And now he was the one hurting him, all because he had stubbornly refused to pick up a phone. "Chris…" he sighed heavily. "I was fine… am fine… I just really needed to take off for a few days. I'm sorry I worried you."

"… _Don't do that again_."

The conversation on the matter was far from over, and he was not forgiven by any means though Wyatt knew that Chris would drop the matter for now because that was just how he was. He would plan out the interrogation, and then he would strike hard and fast and Wyatt would break down and explain everything in detail. "I won't," he promised.

Chris sighed softly over the phone. "_You need to come home_,"

Wyatt glanced through the bedroom door uncertainly. "I… kind of need to take care of something first."

"_Damn it, Wy,_" Chris cursed quietly. "_Mom has been going out of her mind with worry. She even called in the calvary last night, and everyone is here. _Everyone_, including Gran and Grams, and you know that they will find a way to drag you here very, very soon. So I suggest you finish whatever it is you are doing in the next five minutes because they mean business. See you in a bit?"_

"Yeah, Chris," Wyatt agreed softly. "See you in a bit." Guilt plagued him as he realized how much stress he had caused his family by his stunt—heaven knows they had enough of that to deal with without him adding to it. He closed the phone and tucked it away into his jacket before proceeding to pull the garment on. He felt horrible for what he was about to do before he had even finished deciding it, and silently entered the bedroom once more.

Wyatt felt worse than the scum of the underworld for what he was about to do, though honestly it was not something he had not done before. Just… this was the first time he would actually regret it. He knelt by the bed and brushed a soft ringlet away from her face as he studied her. He would make this up to her somehow, though how, he couldn't say. He leaned in closely and pressed a gentle, farewell kiss upon her temple, unbeknownst to him the gesture reminiscent of the way he had last night.

It was in that moment, when his lips grazed against her soft skin, that something strange occurred. And had his eyes been open or his head clear, he may have recognized what it meant. However by the time he pulled away and reopened his eyes, all was as it should be and he would have never guessed that anything significant or of consequence had just happened. He pulled away, leaving her alone in the room as he attempted to squash the remorse and shame he felt for it. As soon as he ensured that her front door was locked, to keep anyone from just waltzing in, his body was engulfed in a swirl of blue and white lights as a gentle sound akin to wind chimes filled the room. It was a spectacular, magical sight, beautiful and unreal, though all too soon the lights had vanished, and with them, so had the young man just as there was a cheerful knock on the apartment door.

The young man reappeared moments later in a completely different location. His body had reformed at its destination in the same way it had disintegrated, and soon he was standing in the attic of the ancestral home of his family, which was often affectionately referred by them all as the manor. He arrived in the attic, which was very large and housed a majority of the items they used to practice their magic, for that is what their family was. Magical. Chests lined the walls full of weaponry such as maces and knives, cabinets filled with various scented and unscented candles, dried herbs and empty phials for their potions and spells. He had been expecting chaos to ensue the moment he arrived, though thankfully that was not the case. No one had noticed him at first, all of them diligently working on their own specific tasks that were most definitely designed to find him.

Paige, his youngest aunt, was bent over a table that had several maps spread over it, a crystal pendulum dangling from her fingers as she spun it over the maps in large circles. She was scrying for him, which would have been a sure way to find him had he not been hiding himself from that method. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, the dark circles under her eyes prominent. Phoebe, his other aunt, was frantically searching through a pile of books, several balls of crumbled up paper strewn out around her and a pencil tucked behind her ear. She was most likely searching for ways to summon him to her side, the pile of paper being failed spells. Her hair was shorter, though no less unkempt as her sister's, and she looked just as exhausted.

Wyatt could only assume that the rest of the family was spread out throughout the house carrying out similar errands in an effort to find him. He felt a stab of guilt, knowing he was the cause of their distress. He should never have just taken off, not with the live they all lead. It was a surefire way to cause panic among everyone, because they all checked in with each other at least once a day just in case something should happen. He was just about to announce himself when the unexpected sound of glass shattering upon the attic floor caused them all to jump in start, immediately taking a defensive position out of instinct.

Moments later Wyatt was engulfed in a bone crushing embrace by his mother, who had dropped the tray of coffee and pastries at the sight of him. He returned the hug gently, even as two more pairs of arms joined in the attempt to strangle him. His mother, Piper, was the oldest living sister. She looked even more unkempt than either Paige or Phoebe had, her long dark hair in disarray from her constantly gripping it with her hands. He held her close in apology. After what he had put them through, he figured they deserved the chance to crush him like this. He whispered softly as he felt hot, moist tears against his neck and shoulders, calming them with reassurances and apologies until they finally stopped crying.

Paige and Phoebe were the first to release him, wiping at their eyes and smiling widely at him in relief. His mother took longer, keeping him trapped within her embrace until she was sure he was real and not a figment of her hopeful imagination. He rubbed her back gently, his cheek pressed against the crown of her head. She pulled away nearly ten minutes later, brown eyes shining and puffy from her tears, cheeks stained with the evidence of her happiness. She said nothing as she poked and prodded at him, inspecting him thoroughly for any kind of injury, eying his lack of shirt with some speculation.

When she was satisfied, she took a small step back, smiled at him… and then she smacked the side of his head. "Wyatt Matthew Halliwell, where the _hell_ have you been, young man?" she demanded steadily, her hands pressed hard against her hips as she glared up at him. Despite the fact that his mother was significantly shorter than him, and physically weaker she was still just as intimidating as she had been twenty years ago and he irrationally looked down and scuffed his shoes against the floor, mumbling out a pathetic answer in response. "Wyatt?" she warned.

"Out of town," he answered louder, looking at her apologetically. "Way out of town…" She raised a dark eyebrow in question and he swallowed the thickness lodged in his throat. His mother was not someone to piss off with evasive answers—she was damn scary. "I stayed with Isaac for a while… in Los Angeles. And then I went to… Damien's house… in Tuscany. But I'm back now!" he said helplessly, wincing in anticipation as he saw her fingers twitch in her ire.

Piper Halliwell was not in the best of moods, and when her emotions were high, as they had been since she had first discovered the absence of her oldest son, objects around her tended to… explode. As it were, the moment her fingers twitched, every window in the entire attic suddenly cracked irreparably and shattered outward into millions of tiny particles that rained down in the grass and bushes that surrounded the house. It was something that happened quite often, so none of them so much as blinked at the destruction. They could repair it with a few simple words later on. Paige and Phoebe wisely chose to not interfere as the their older sister took in a deep, calming breath, and curled her arms around her, crossing them so that there would not be a repeat of the incident, and then she looked at her wide-eyed son with an icy stare.

"You are going to go with us downstairs where the rest of the family is waiting," she told him coldly, and he flinched at the unfamiliarity of _that _tone coming from his mother. "You are going to sit down, and explain to us why you vanished without a word, without a _trace…_ for four days, to hide away with your friends. This is going to be a calm and mature discussion. And when you are done, you will apologize to _each and every_ one of us for scaring us like this… and then we will discuss your punishment. Is that quite understood, young man?"

Wyatt swallowed thickly. "… Yes, ma'am,"

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»*********«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

Nearly two hours later, the majority of their family had departed without the satisfaction of a proper explanation, though relieved to find that Wyatt had returned unharmed. The wounds were still to fresh to open up about properly, and he knew he would cave in and talk to his brother by the end of the day. The rest of the family would find out soon enough anyway. He had spent the first hour apologizing to all of his cousins, his aunts and uncles, his godfather, his grandparents, his great grandmother, his own siblings and his parents. He had a lot to apologize for and a lot of people to apologize to. There had been a lot of yelling and quite a few tears though in the end he had been forgiven… with a few stipulations.

It could have been worse, and he was grateful that they had yet to pry. He figured they would discuss it with each other first, and then corner him, although by then they would probably all know. His younger brother had kept quiet the entire time everyone else had nitpicked and scolded him, tucked away in a corner of the room. He had been the only one who had yet to approach him, though as soon as Wyatt had seen his aunt and her family out, he found that young Christopher was waiting for him in his room. Wyatt watched as his brother leaned against his desk, his arms crossed though not in an angry way. He was shorter than Wyatt, though not by much. His dark brown hair was shaven close to his head, and he had the same lithe and tone physique as his brother though he was a bit more slender. It was clear to see that Chris took more after their mother in appearance whereas Wyatt was more like their father.

Chris idly played with the leather string tied around his wrist, his green eyes pensive and his face thoughtful as he observed him. "Something happened, something that hurt you." It was a simple statement, and a very good deduction. "You would never have left like you did unless it had been something bad, and you just wanted to get away from it. And I already have an idea what that may have been… so you don't have to explain anything, not to me."

For a moment, neither brother moved. It was times like this that Wyatt was so incredibly grateful to have such a caring and understanding brother. He had been sure that this would be when Chris would sit him down and interrogate him. Wyatt had underestimated his brother's empathetic ability to simply _know_ when something was wrong. His brother was great at solving problems with very little information, especially when it was about something as important as this. He should have known that Chris would have figured out what was plaguing him. And Chris, being who he was, would simply forgive him, no questions asked. It was... a very big relief to know that he had his brother on his side.

With a heavy sigh, Wyatt kicked off his shoes and fell back against his bed. He placed his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling with a solemn frown. His lips twitched into a smile as he felt his brother drop onto the bed beside him from the opposite side, so that they were laying head to feet together. Both were silent, willing to stay silent if that is what was needed even, though Wyatt already knew he was cracking. He couldn't _not_ tell his brother. Chris was his closest friend, and he never kept anything from him. Wyatt gathered his thoughts, wondering how he could even begin to explain everything. It hurt significantly to even think about, like there was a giant chasm inside of his chest where his heart used to be. It was no as bad as it had been a few days prior, though his chest still ached.

Finally, he settled for a simple answer. "It was Gwen,"

Chris had obviously been expecting this answer because he only nodded. "What did she do?"

Wyatt snorted quietly, a bitter smile on his face. "How do you know it was _her _fault?"

"You know the answer to that, Wy," Chris reminded him gently.

And they both knew he was right. Wyatt did know why his brother would automatically assume that she was at fault and not him. Gwen and Wyatt had been dating off and on for several years, and as with every couple they had their troubles, and they had gone their separate ways during almost every major confrontation. Each time they had broken up, Gwen had been the instigator because she wanted to _play the field_ occasionally or because _she_ needed space. It made no difference to her if she hurt Wyatt during those periods, and as such, Gwen had not managed to endear herself to anyone in their family, especially not his little brother. Chris had made no effort to hide his dislike for her, despite the fact that Wyatt had practically begged him to play nice.

"It's stupid, really," Wyatt told him, though neither of them truly thought that. He would not have disappeared like that if it had it been for a stupid reason. He sighed, closing his eyes in slight pain. "Should have seen it coming, actually, what with our track record with each other and all but I… I was stupid. Stupid, and in love. I never wanted to let her go. She just… could never be satisfied with being with _one _person."

Chris was angry, and it reflected in his tone. "She cheated on you."

"… Not for the first time, either…" Wyatt agreed quietly. The first time had been the reason they had broken up the last time, the only time that Wyatt had ever been the one to call things off. Their separation had lasted for a month. "I forgave her the first time. She said that she was sorry, and it had been a mistake and it would never happen again. Somehow I get the feeling that it did happen again, and often, because when I caught them together he seemed very familiar with her. This was just the only other time I caught her." He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "This time… she couldn't smile and say that she was sorry. This time, I told her we were done... and that the wedding was off."

"Good for you," Chris said evenly, secretly pleased that he would no longer have to play nice with the girl who continuously broke his brother's heart. He had long ago realized that the only reason Wyatt tended to avoid getting serious with anyone else was because Gwen had her claws so deep inside of him, that he just couldn't see himself ever being serious about anyone other than her. It was as if she could do no wrong in his eyes. And now everything had been cruelly revealed to him, and no matter how much of a bad brother it made him, Chris was glad. It meant that Wyatt no longer saw her as infallible. Chris relaxed into the bed, turning slightly to level his brother with a speculative look. "Are you okay? Really?"

Wyatt thought seriously on the question for a moment. Was he okay? He surprised himself with the answer. He shook his head with an amused smile, though admittedly a confused pinch to his brows as he began to speak. "You know what? I really am," He was a bit stumped by his own reaction, because four days ago he had been lost in a world of hurt and anger and betrayal. Now… he was… relieved. He knew now that he would never take her back, because she had broken the cardinal rule. He valued commitment, and if she had not been faithful not only once but twice there was a good chance it would have happened again. No more drama with Gwen seemed to be just the thing he needed. "I guess it was just time to go our separate ways… for good."

Chris nodded slowly, raising an eyebrow. "You know… one thing has bothered me since you got back."

Wyatt made a noncommittal sound in question.

"A few things, actually… for instance, Eric called me around eight last night. It took me till about nine this morning to notice, because my phone was charging. D.J. called a while later, saying that you left around closing. But what's strange is… though you were still gone when mom checked your room this morning, which could only mean that you were elsewhere. And you were being quiet when I called you, very quiet… as if you were trying not to disturb someone. Then there is the fact that you arrived without a shirt…"

There was an unspoken question in there, one that could either be answered or avoided, because Chris was giving him that option. Wyatt couldn't help the wide smile that graced his features at the thought of where he had been last night, though it turned into a grimace as he recalled the less than spectacular retreat this morning. With a despondent sigh, Wyatt rose to his elbows and gave his brother a wistful smile. "I found… the most lovely distraction," he informed his brother, who sat up with an eager grin. "And you know what? The entire time I was with her… there were only a few times that I even thought about Gwen, the _entire_ _time_. She was so… sweet," Wyatt breathed out in slight wonder. "She listened and did not judge me, and she was nice and calm and it just put me… at ease. I was comfortable with her, Chris... content even."

"Aw," Chris smiled mischievously. "Someone sounds twitterpated,"

Wyatt smacked him with a pillow for his teasing. "Shut up, Christopher."

Chris chuckled, shaking his head, placing the pillow behind his head. "So? Details?"

And so Wyatt began his recount of what he could remember from last night, beginning with his disagreement with new bartender, whom Chris made him _promise _to apologize to the next time he saw him, up until the point D.J. had escorted the lovely redhead up to the lounge upon Eric's request. "Thought she was pretty, so I said she could stay," Chris laughed uproariously, apparently thinking that his reason for allowing her into the lounge was amusing. Wyatt childishly stuck his tongue out at him, insisting, "You would have done the same!" He told his brother all about how she listened while he rambled on about nothing, about everything, and how he had done the same for her, and then about their game of endless questions and how it morphed into just answering randomly even when no questions were asked. Wyatt was, admittedly, a bit vague on the details regarding what had happened after he walked her home, because he was flushing right along with Chris, who did not want _those kind of details_ and stammering, skipping right on ahead to the point where he woke up.

Chris, for the most part, was glad that his brother had found someone to capture his attention and take his mind off of the harpy. "So are you going to see her again?"

"That is the ultimate question, isn't it," Wyatt sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He would _like_ to see her again. Even if it was only as a friend, because everything about her had been pleasant to the point that he already considered her to be a friend. He thought that perhaps it would be a bit too soon for them to be anything other than friends anyway, and he would not like begin dating again just days after he called off his wedding no matter how attracted he was to someone. That would only be a recipe for disaster, and would probably only hurt them both in the end. "It would be… beyond nice to see her again," he admitted. There was only one problem. "Only… she hadn't woken up by the time you called so…"

"... You _idiot_," Chris lamented, closing his eyes in a grimace.

Wyatt winced. "Agreed,"

"How are you going to fix _that_?"

"Groveling? Flowers? Memory dust so she won't know what an ass I am?"

"Maybe throw in the honey cake love spell for good measure," Chris suggested jokingly, only to snort at the considering look on his brother's face. He shook his head. "Just… apologize to her if you see her again. You won't know unless you try, so you may as well. Although I'm not sure if you're ready for the dating scene just yet..."

"I don't even know if she'll _want_ to see me again." he sighed. "She probably hates me... that's if she even remembers me."

Chris gave him a sympathetic look and shrugged. "If she's worth it… then you won't give up."

"Wyatt Matthew Halliwell!"

Both brothers shuddered as the voice reached their ears. The shriek was too high pitched to have been there mother, and as all of the aunts and cousins and grandparents had been escorted back to their lovely abodes, that left _one _person, and that person did not sound very happy. It was their younger sister, Melinda. She was only sixteen, and lord help the man that she eventually snagged her lethal hooks into because she already had their mother's temper magnified by ten. Wyatt groaned miserably as he hurried from the bed, heading for his closet where he proceeded to pull out a pair of black slacks and a simple white button down shirt.

Chris watched him scramble for a pair of dress shoes in amusement. "What is Mini-Mom upset about?"

"One of her demands, as payment for costing her three days that could have been spent shopping at the mall with her friends," Wyatt hissed as he stubbed a toe in his haste. "Was that I help out at the restaurant because the bar tender is out with the flu, and I happen to be lucky enough to have a liquor license. She is going to be pissed that I don't have a uniform, but she gave me the lunch shift without bothering to find out if I had one or not, so it's her own fault. Now go stall her, pretty please, so I can change."

Chris snorted, shaking his head though he complied and hurried up the stairs to prevent their sister from barging in.

As Wyatt was straightening the collar of his shirt, he spotted something on his nightstand that both infuriated him and made his heart clench with sadness. With a deep frown, he approached, taking the framed photograph in his hands and studying it. It was taken just a few months ago, on the day he proposed, by his own brother who moonlighted as an aspiring photographer in his free time. He and Gwen were looking away from the camera, wide, happy smiles plastered on their faces as they watched the waves of the ocean, their feet buried in the sand while wind whipped their hair around. It was a lovely picture that captured the moment beautifully.

Exhaling all of his anger with one deep, controlled breath, Wyatt placed the frame back upon his nightstand face down so that the haunting image was hidden from his sight. He would deal with it later when he returned, and probably smash the glass and burn the image itself. The wound was still too fresh to want to eradicate everything about her from his life, the knife of betrayal still embedded between his shoulder blade, so painful and sharp not to be twisted a bit so he would never forget… though he thought he may have been on the way to healing already.

It would take some time before he was completely over Gwen. Six years was a long time to be with someone, and they had been friends before they had become lovers. And it was not as if they had been steadily dating during that entire time either, during their separations they had both seen other people both seriously and casually. This latest attempt had been the longest they had been together, for ten consecutive months. He had proposed because he had thought they were both ready to take that final step, to cement their relationship in the way his parents had.

Perhaps he had only wanted to take that next step with her because he thought it may have made her want to stick around for good, that she would cease walking away from him so she could be with someone else. A piece of paper and a ring to tie them together, some tangible proof that she actually loved him and wanted to be with him like he wanted to be with her. He had been fooling himself, and she had walked right over his delusions with her sharp stiletto high heels and broke his heart in a way she had never before.

Wyatt only hoped she had not caused him permanent damage.

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»****End****«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»****Chapter****«·´¯·.¸**

So there might be one last update in a few weeks, but beyond that it will be a long while til I get the time. The only reason I got these chapters up is because I worked on them when all my guests had gone to bed already. Otherwise I would have heard several complaints about me being on my computer, but I figured it would have just been cruel to leave it at that first chapter. Besides, it just wanted to be written this week. My mind would not be at ease until I had written it all down...

Lynx


	5. The Dream

**¸.·´¯·»****Chapter Four****«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»**_The Dream_**«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

_Brígh could feel someone touching her, running their fingers over her closed eyelids, across her cheekbones, down the slope of her nose… the gentlest brush against her lips. Her breath halted as the hand trailed lower down her neck and came to rest at the hollow of her throat. She wanted to open her eyes to see who thought they had the right to touch her so intimately but she could not find the strength to do so. Instead she relaxed into the touches, a strange calmness and familiarity overtaking her with the sensations._

_A soft kiss was pressed against her forehead before the lips decided to follow the same path the fingers had taken, only to stop at the corner of her mouth. She could feel warm breath against her skin and shivered at the feeling, her arms reaching up of their own accord to encircle the strong figure above her. She gripped him, the muscles of his back contracting at her touch, and suddenly his lips were against her own, exploring the inside of her mouth and causing her to tremble pleasantly as the kiss was deepened._

_Only when she was finally released was she able to find the strength to pry her eyes open, however there was no longer any sign of the man save for the lingering sensations he left behind. She rose slightly, resting on her elbows and observed her surroundings with confusion. The room was unfamiliar to her, though she felt calm even now despite not knowing where she was. Brígh frowned as she waiting for a sense of panic to arise. She was confused, not quite sure why this was not bothering her, and she couldn't bring herself to dwell on it anymore as she removed herself from the warm bed._

_In the dim lighting provided by the high windows, she noted that the bed was tucked away in a corner against a wall, a heavily crowded desk and a bookshelf against another, a set of stairs by the chest of drawers and a small showcase cabinet that housed what looked to be swords and shields. The walls appeared to be made of concrete, so there were no pictures or decorations on them, although there was an overturned picture frame on the bedside table._

_The contents on the desk and in the bookshelf were surprising as she gave them a once over. Books on human anatomy, medical terms and various diseases made up the majority of the literature. Whomever this room belonged was apparently studying to become some kind of doctor or nurse, if their choice in literature was anything to go by. There were a few works of fiction as well, others history books on witches and werewolves and other creatures as well as a few thicker tombs on mythologies of various cultures. It was a rather extensive collection, an impressive one at that.  
_

_The young woman approached the stairs that lead up to a door, and she wondered if this was either a basement or an underground apartment. Either way she felt strangely comfortable here even if she did not understand why she felt that way. Of course her confusion at her own feelings did nothing stop her damnable curiosity, and she began climbing up the stairs. The door at the top, however, refused to open when she jiggled the handle, and only then did her mind begun to catch up with the rest of her._

_Brígh was in a strange and unfamiliar place and the only exit would not open._

"_Hello?" she called out. "Is anyone out there?" There was no answer and she tugged on the door insistently, her frustration when it still wouldn't budge causing her to lash out at it with her foot. "Please? I'm locked in! Please…" She lowered her head, hand stilling as a sense of hopelessness filled her. "… I'm scared," An instant later an arm coiled around her waist to keep her upright, and a strong, muscular chest pressed against her back. Calmness seeped through her every nerve and she relaxed into the embrace unintentionally._

_Brígh allowed herself to be turned around, her eyes automatically rising to see who this mysterious man was. She was held captive by the luminous blue eyes, her breath catching in her throat at the intensity those blue orbs pinned her with. She trembled slightly in his grasp, studying his features with only the barest hint of recognition. A small smile made his dimples prominent and his eyes glow. He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, purposely dragging the tip of his nose across her own teasingly._

"_Brígh…"_

It almost physically hurt as the world around her swirled and twisted, a dense fog surrounding her body and clouding her sight from the deeply enticing moment, cruelly torn away from her. Her feelings were a confusing mixture of what she should have felt and what she _had_ felt, erratically combining until she was whimpering from not knowing if what she was feeling was truly her feelings. It was terrifying, the combinations of contentment and fear, of comfort and absolute panic. Never before had she experienced a dream so… so incredibly _vivid_. Every touch, every kiss had been so realistic that she was sure it was not a dream at all but reality and she was not sure what scared her more—the fact that she had felt such a strong pull to the nameless man in her fantasy or the fact that she wanted to stay within the dream and never wake from it.

Brígh flinched slightly as an utterly cheerful knock resounded throughout her apartment, lifting her head only slightly before whimpering as an intense pain surged through her head. She groaned, not even bothering to open her eyes for a brief moment to see what was going on, instead attempting to bury herself beneath the her coverlet as the pressure within her skull made itself known violently. She could not recall why she felt so dreadful, could not bring herself to move other than to burrow into her pillow as the incessant knocking made the agony worse.

Moments later the knocking finally ceased as the person responsible obviously gave up their cruel pursuit to wake her, though she could not be relieved for much longer as she heard her front door open and close, and then a gentle, off key humming filled the apartment. Brígh whimpered again, almost pathetically as someone called out her name. Everything was _too loud_, _too intense_ and she was miserable as she felt the weight of her best friend settle in the bed beside her.

A deep chuckle filled the room. "Brígh," a soothing masculine whispered her name gently in an attempt to rouse her fingers beginning to comb through the tangle of curls peeking out from beneath the covers. "Wake up, lovely." Brígh reluctantly inched the blankets down so that her face was visible, winching pathetically as she opened her eyes. A gamut of fanatical colors danced across her vision, and she blinked several times to rid herself of the dizziness plaguing her. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face a picture of absolute wretchedness as she gazed up at the intruder, who immediately sensed that something was wrong.

Eyes of a pale, ice blue stared down at her with an expression of deeply etched concern. His slim body was stiff, posture completely tense as he continued to observe her with a critical look, taking in every detail as if it held the secret to why she looked so terrible this afternoon. He bit his bottom lip, forcing his hands at his sides as he physically restrained himself from taking her into his arms and holding her. Alec Hemmingway had been a friend to Brígh since they were both very young. She had been his closest friend since either of them could remember, and there was little that they hid from each other. He would never claim to know her every deep, dark secret, because the only person who could claim absolute knowledge of Brígh was her sister, though he knew enough to be able to understand that something was not quite right.

"What happened?"

It took Brígh a few minutes to consider the question, because even she was unsure of why her head was aching so fiercely. She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep for an eternity. She had suffered from headaches before, and on the rare occasion a migraine, though never had the pain been as bad as what she was currently experiencing. It was not only her head that ailed her, however, and her body was aching in ways that she did not understand at first. All along her back and her shoulder and, possibly worst of all, her thighs, she felt tense and strained, as if she had been placed through a rigorous and strenuous workout that she had failed to properly stretch for. Several locations on her body tingled, and were tender to the touch as she sought them out with curious fingers. There was also a deeper ache, one that she thought may have been the beginning of a cramp, tough it was different in a way that made her still. Her breathing developed a slight hitch, and she swallowed the thickness as she tried to remember what she had been doing last night.

Brígh involuntarily flinched when an unexpected hand came to rest on her forehead, and she forced herself to relax as she noticed the concern and alarm aimed at her for it. "I… I'm fine," she told him, though her answer had been belated enough that it was completely unbelievable and Alec was already shaking his head with a deep frown pinching at his eyebrows.

"Bullshit," he denied.

Stomach churning and twisting into knots, Brígh pulled the sheets to her chest and held them in place before she began sitting up. She swallowed thickly, adjusting the sheet so it wrapped around her bare body, inwardly mortified to have discovered that she was naked. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath as she ignored his gaze. And then she gave the room a cautious glance, frowning at the cup of water and asprin beside her bed, slowly realizing that Alec had not been the one to place them there.

The young woman took several minutes to collect her thought as she took the medicine to relieve the pain in her head, the memories of what had occurred blurred in a distorted image that she could not hold on to. She could only recall bits and pieces, some thoughts more prominent than others, though her current state painted a very clear picture of how the events had concluded. Her throat felt strangely constricted as she realized she could not conjure up a visual of the man she had brought into her home, his features clouded by the consumption of too much alcohol.

With another shuddering breath, she lowered her head, the movement creating a veil of burgundy hair between her and her friend's intense and inquisitive gaze. Brígh clutched the sheet to her chest even tighter when she heard Alec curse softly as he came to his own conclusions and shifted beside her, scooting closer until she felt a comforting pressure surround her when he pulled her into his arms.

Alec maneuvered her down into his lap, carding his fingers through her hair softly. He was grateful to find that she was not yet crying, though each breath she took threatened to transform into sob as if she just might. He was not sure what had happened last night to have caused this, though he knew it likely had something to do with Cadence's _surprise_. As soon as most of the guests at the party had begun to leave, she had grabbed ahold of her sister and then they had both vanished into the night. He did not like this at all. He could only guess where Cadence had dragged her off to, although considering the fact his best friend had a blemish on the side of her neck that was most definitely a hickey and he could faintly smell alcohol on her, he figured they had gone to a club.

Brígh was the smartest women he knew, though she had a tendency to believe that most people had good intentions, and it was partially the fault of both him and her older brother, Connor, because they tried to protect her from the type of people who would take advantage of her. She was not like Cadence, who knew exactly what to say and do to get her way, how to flawlessly manipulate people like a great politician. Brígh could take care of herself to a point, though she was helpless in most social situations.

To think that she would ever do something like this was simply just… unthinkable. He could not wrap his mind around the fact that she would bring a random stranger into her home, and he knew it had to have been a stranger because none of the men in her life would have walked away from her like a coward the next morning. Besides that, he knew every man in her life and they all knew better than to get involved with her lest they want to face the wrath of her formidable father and her brother. Still he could never imagine her doing something like this… willingly, and the truth of that thought brought a more likely, though frightening scenario to the forefront of his mind.

"Brígh," he whispered in urgency, hating to disturb her but needing to know all the same. He prayed he was wrong. "Was this consensual?" She shifted in his arms, turning over so that she could look him directly in the eye so he would know what she was speaking was the truth.

"Yes," she assured him quietly, and though it did little to make either feel better about the situation, it did give Alec some peace knowing that his best friend had not been forced into anything.

Although, where she was concerned, Alec would consider the term _forced_ to be a matter of opinion. Brígh had very limited experience with men and even less experience when it came to the sophisticated and slick players who hung out at clubs just searching for someone vulnerable and inebriated to prey on. He did not like this situation, and in fact he already had plans to throttle her sister when he got his hands on her. She should never have left Brígh alone, not in a place like that.

"Alec?"

There was uncertainty in her voice, and he smiled reassuringly. "Yes, little red?"

"… Does it make me a terrible person that I don't even remember his name?"

Alec exhaled a deep breath in sympathy, before he shook his head. "No, not at all," he told her quietly. "All it means is that he must not have been very good if he was that forgettable," His words had the desired effect, and she gave him a reluctant smile, albeit a watery one. "Was he good looking at least?"

Brígh frowned slightly in thought. "… I think so,"

A dark eyebrow rose high as he stared down at her. "Just how much did you drink last night?"

"Too much," she whimpered, covering her eyes with her forearm. "I barely remember anything from last night, just flashes of memories and they are all a big blurry mess. It hurts to think about anything. The light burns, my stomach is rebelling against me, and my head… oh, God, my head! Why would anyone ever want to voluntarily drink excessively if this is the result?" She peeked up at him miserably, only to find him grinning at her plight. "I'm glad you find my pain amusing…"

Alec chuckled deeply. "Your first hangover," He mockingly dabbed at his eyes, as if wiping away tears. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart," Being that she was in his arms, he had no chance of escaping the pinch she gave his side, and he yelped, his grin turning into a scowl. "You are so lucky that I love you, Red."

Brígh smiled, leaning against him comfortably. They sat there in silence for a moment, and slowly her smile faded into a solemn frown as her mind drifted back to their original topic. She was not even sure she wanted to broach it once more, it would probably be best to just ignore that it had ever happened. That it had all been a nightmare, and she had not acted impulsively and stupidly. To ignore the reality of it, however, would probably be just as bad as acknowledging what happened and truly moving past it.

And so she began to talk about it, starting at the beginning of what she could remember. She could recall that her sister had woken her at eight in the morning, to first treat her out to breakfast before forcing her into a pricey uptown salon and spa, where they had trimmed her hair and had painfully plucked and waxed her eyebrows to perfection, and painted her nails. The message, admittedly, had been worth the torture of the grooming… it had been nice to be pampered a bit for a change. The dress with the plunging neckline made of the clingy fabric, while tastefully made, had been not so nice, though she had endured because it had been a gift. And refusing a gift from Cadence had the potential to cause drama.

Brígh was able to skip through the majority of her less than spectacular birthday, as Alec had most definitely been in attendance and had been glued to her side most of the night. He had been the only thing that had kept her from walking away from it all, because the entire day had been planned out without her input, and it had been upsetting that for a day that everyone said was all about her, nothing about it had been _about her_. Only Alec and her father had seemed to realize that she had not asked for an elaborate party, with a guest list a mile long of people she was only mere acquaintances with. She would have been content to stay in her pajamas and watch reruns of her favorite shows and movies with her family and a few select friends.

When she did speak about what she could remember about the club, everything was disorganized and discombobulated, the memories hazy and distorted into a large mesh that was difficult to decipher. She could only vaguely remember what her mystery man had even looked like, and what he had been like to have made her act so rashly. She avoided the topic of her earlier dream, because it too had faded into nothing but a shadow in her mind that she was having difficulty remembering.

Alec listened passively the entire time, only interrupting to clarify on a few details or ask a question.

By the end, Brígh had a question of her own. "… Why did he just leave?"

Alec winced at the question, though he should have guessed it was coming. He was a guy, and as one she would obviously expect him to be able to shed some insight to the situation. He may have been a man, though he was just as lost as she was. He only had one explanation for why anyone would leave such a wonderful woman like Brígh alone after the night they obviously had.

"Because he was a _dick_," he said easily, his tone almost angry, ignoring the fact that she gave him the evil eye for his crass language. He knew that she did not approve when he cursed, though really, he could not bring himself to care at the moment. "He thought with his _dick_, and he acted like a _dick_, and if I ever find out his name, I will hunt him down and cut off his _dick_ and then shove it up his ass."

Brígh, though vexed by his repeated offenses, could only roll her eyes. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," Alec snorted. "It would certainly be entertaining to me though."

"You, sir, are as bad as Connor,"

Alec actually seemed to _preen_ under the comparison. Connor, of course, being the oldest of the three children, though he was technically only older than Cadence by a total of eight minutes. Connor had not been seen since his wedding over a month ago, due to the fact that as their honeymoon, the newlywed couple had traveled overseas to visit and explore various locations throughout Europe. Both of his sisters loved him dearly, although they both hated the fact that he had a tendency to become overprotective when he felt that someone was interested in his sisters.

"It was a shame that he missed your birthday," Alec commented with a secretive smile as he extracted his cellular phone from his pocket, and discreetly began typing a short message into the device.

Brígh sighed despondently. "Yes," she agreed sadly. "It was."

"Yeah, and you know, the toga is cute," he said, ice blue eyes giving the sheets a cursory glance while her pale skin reddened slightly. "Though you are probably going to want your robe in a minute…"

Not more than a moment later did the soft, melodic tones of her own personal ringtone fill the room, and she groaned softly at the intrusion before reluctantly extracting herself from his embrace. Her phone was alongside her abandoned purse, which had somehow managed to have ended on her bookshelf of all places. She snatched up the device quickly, not even thinking to look at the screen to see who it was calling her before she answered, grabbing her robe off of her closet door and pulling it on, shedding herself of the so called _toga._

"This is Brígh," she said tiredly, placing her free hand over her stomach as it churned rebelliously from standing. She took in a deep breath, running her hand through her hair gratefully when the nausea had passed even as the bitter taste of acid permeated in her mouth. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"_Happy birthday, to you_," a very distinct voice sang through the line.

Brígh smiled widely. "Connor!"

"_How is my baby sister doing on this fine day?_"

"Okay. We were just talking about you, actually,"

"_That must be why my nose was burning_," Connor said accusingly. "_Good things, I hope?_"

Brígh huffed out an exaggerated sigh. "Just mourning the fact that you missed my birthday,"

"_Yeah, sorry about that_," he told her sadly. "_My flight was delayed for about twelve hours, and we only just landed about an hour ago_…"

Before Brígh even had a chance to contemplate what he was saying or what it meant, a very deliberate _knock_ resounded throughout the apartment, and what caught her attention the most was the fact that she could hear it through the phone as well. She was in motion instantaneously, bare feet padding across the wooden floors and she hastily unlocked the front door and unceremoniously ripped it open.

Connor was completely thrown off balance by the sudden weight of her vaulting at him, colliding into his chest so suddenly that he barely managed to keep them both upright as she attempted to strangle him with a deadly grip. "I take it, I was missed?" he laughed deeply, returning the embrace even though he was being slowly suffocated.

Brígh reluctantly released her hold on him, moving back slightly to look him over with a critical eye. He was wearing one of his customary tee shirts, the legend of some ancient rock band that she had never heard of before stretched proudly across his chest. His fiery red hair was hidden beneath a simple black beanie, and his big black boots were unlaced. He seemed to have gained even more muscle over the past month, probably working out vigorously the entire time to prevent himself from gaining weight from all of the foreign foods he had been consuming, or rather, to impress his wife. He was certainly a sight for sore eyes, and as soon as she had finished scrutinizing him, he was trapped within he arms once again.

"Sorry I was late," Connor whispered into her hair, squeezing her just a bit tighter.

Brígh responded by pressing a small kiss against his cheek. "You, good sir, are usually the only one in the family who is always on time, so I think you can be forgiven just this once," she told him solemnly. "You are never leaving again. Missed you too much,"

"Missed you too, Brígh," he told her, returning with a kiss to her forehead.

"You know, this reunion is so very touching and all," Alec interrupted in amusement, causing the two siblings to look at him. "But I'm beginning to feel a bit neglected over here."

Connor rolled his eyes, indulgently spreading an arm out in invitation. "_Only_ because you helped me surprise her," he told the other man, glaring at him warily while his sister snickered slightly.

Alec raised an eyebrow. "You know you love me," he teased. "Though I believe that I have just about overstayed my welcome for the day," He continued as Brígh made to protest. "Since you were deprived of your big brother last night, you two go ahead and spend the day together." He gently pulled Brígh away from her brother to give her a departing hug. "You going to be okay?" he asked in a serious whisper, pulling away when she nodded slowly. He kissed her knuckles gently before he gave her a wink that was positively mischievous. And then he grabbed Connor by the face and planted a slobbery kiss upon his cheek before darting out of the apartment.

Moving out of the threshold of the door, Brígh watched as her friend departed with a look in her eyes that was half exasperated and half amused, her brother sputtering beside her. "You know, he only does that to get a rise out of you," she told him, closing the door. "Alec has made it his mission in life to provoke you."

Connor, wiping his cheek with the hem of his shirt, only scowled. "He succeeded when he was eight, and he announced to every one of Da's business partners that he had proposed to you and you were getting married the next time we went to church, and one day the two of you would have _three_ babies. I believe he his exact words were that he wanted to have _one of each_,"

"We were children, Conn," Brígh reminded him gently. "And Alec has always been precocious,"

"A pest, is more like it,"

"You know," Brígh commented as she took a seat at her small dining table. "You could have told me that you were going to come back early. We weren't expecting you back for another two weeks."

"Actually," Connor smiled wryly. "Only _you_ were expecting us back in two more weeks. Everyone else knew we were supposed to be back yesterday. It was going to be a surprise,"

"It would have been a great one," she told him, smiling. "In fact, it still is a great surprise,"

"Well good," He gave a single nod with a wide smile. "Glad to know I'm wanted."

"Always," she affirmed.

Connor smiled more sincerely, and ruffled her already messy hair. "Okay," he said, eying the robe with a pointed look as he nodded his head towards the bedroom. "Go and take a quick shower, and get dressed. Wear something nice, though you have my permission _not_ to wear anything Cades bought for your birthday. You have ten minutes."

Brígh tried very hard not to appear amused. "Connor,"

"Nine minutes and forty seconds," he grinned.

"You are a pain," she muttered, and even though she rolled her eyes and childishly stuck her tongue out at him, she made her way back into her bedroom. She searched her closet for something appropriate to wear, and it had taken her a total of five minute to shower and apply a modest amount of makeup, if only to hide the dark circles beneath her eyes, and another three to vigorously brush her teeth. Soon she was slipping her feet into a pair of nice shoes and exiting the apartment with her brother.

Once they had settled within the cab of Connor's old brown pickup truck, Brígh listened as her brother began a detailed chronicle of his trip through Europe, thankfully omitting _certain_ _details_ that she did not really wish to know about her brother and new sister-in-law. He described the scenery in a way that painted a beautiful picture in her mind, and she closed her eyes while she listened and tried to focus on his voice rather than the motion sickness she was feeling. She hoped it would pass soon, because getting sick in his truck would ruin the rest of her day and she did not want there to be any more upsetting moments today.

"You would have loved it there," he concluded, and she smiled serenely.

"I hope you two took lots of pictures," she told him.

"Of course we did. Jess has them all on her computer..."

Brígh smiled thoughtfully, giving him a side glance. "Out of all the cities and sites you visited, did you have a favorite?"

Connor glanced at her hesitantly, and sighed. "We visited County Clare," he told her gently, smiling sadly when she turned to look at him. County Clare, in the republic of Ireland, was where their father had been born and raised, and where they had all likewise been born. Their grandmother had lived in the family estate just outside of the coastal town of Doolin until her recent passing eight months ago, and none of them had returned since the reading of the will. "The groundskeeper recognized me, and he let us stay for a few days."

Silence encompassed the truck as Connor continued to drive towards the secret destination. Out of all of them, Brígh had been closest to their grandmother. She had spent two months with her every year since she was twelve years old, and she had taken it the hardest when she had passed away in her sleep of old age.

Brígh let out a breath, and smiled reluctantly when Connor placed his hand over hers. "Where are we even going?" she asked, wanting to change the topic. This morning had already caused her enough stress, and she was not interested in ruining the rest of her day by thinking of her grandmother and bursting into tears. _No more upsetting topics..._

Connor gave her a mischievous grin. "Patience is a virtue." he taunted. "Almost there."

Eventually the truck slowly came to a halt as Connor pulled into a parking lot.

Brígh peered around the surroundings curiously, her eyes flashing in recognition before a wide smile lit her entire face. She leaned forward in excitement, looking out at the building. It was a relatively large building, a lovely garden terrace that had ornate and comfortable chairs set up beneath a canopy to shade the sun from diners. High windows of frosted glass that obscured the inside from prying eyes though still admitted soft light through to the inside, the outside walls were decorated with an attractive work of masonry, massive wooden doors with actual doormen waiting on either side, and there was a small pavilion with seating arrangements for the people waiting comfortably for their admittance.

Situated just in front of a beautiful row of flowers, there was a hand carved wooden sign that proudly proclaimed _Charmed_ in an elaborate calligraphy for all to see.

Brígh turned to her brother eagerly. "Seriously?" she questioned, her voice borderline pleading. She had only been here once, and what a wonderful experience that had been, and if this was a prank she would seriously regret it. Connor merely grinned widely at her reaction, and she squealed slightly in an uncharacteristic display of enthusiasm. She squeezed his hand happily and hurried to get out of the vehicle. This was a much more thoughtful gift than any upscale spa. "No way!"

"You better believe it," Connor told her as he looped her arm with his, ready to lead her inside. "I almost had to call and ask Cadence to bring you instead, because my flight was delayed. You got lucky this time," He smiled. "I have had today planned for the past month now, and I would have hated to miss it myself,"

"This is the best present so far," she told him honestly, practically skipping as they reached the doormen, who smiled at the obviously joy on her face as they held the doors open.

Inside, Connor approached the maître d' while Brígh took a moment to allow the atmosphere of the restaurant to soak into her. The establishment was actually a rather simple design, a wide open space with large tables placed appropriately apart to allow for the illusion of privacy. The artificial lighting was minimally done with chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceiling and a few hangings on the wall as well as the shaded windows. The floors were composed of a terracotta and cream tile, which a few splashes of vivid color provided by small mosaics to make it look all the more beautiful. All of the furniture was made of a deep, dark cheery wood, and every table was covered with a pristine white cloth and illuminated with a bowl of floating white and red candles in the center.

Brígh allowed herself to be led by her brother as they were escorted to a secluded alcove, and she gave him a tight hug before she took her seat. Menus were placed before them, and she was clearly fascinated by every dish that Connor feared she may actually attempt to order at the very least one of everything. Her smile was absolutely infectious. He shook his head in amusement, looking down at his own menu. Their waitress was a young woman who was dressed very professionally as all of the servers were, with a nice wine colored long sleeve shirt, black slacks and a matching black vest. Her long dark hair was pulled into a fashionable braid to the side that draped over her shoulders, and she had a friendly air around her that was comfortable.

"Good afternoon," she greeted happily. "Thank you for choosing _Charmed_. My name is Linda, and I will be serving you today. Can I interest you in something to drink?"

Connor briefly glanced at the wine menu that she had in hand, and declined anything alcoholic since he was the one driving, and he ordered a soda while Brígh opted for a simple iced tea. Brígh seriously doubted that she would ever have the nerve to consume anything remotely containing alcohol after last night. Her head was still aching slightly, the asprin having dulled the pain only slightly, though she suspected she was hiding it rather well because Connor did not look the least bit suspicious. At least the nausea had passed now that she was no longer in a moving vehicle.

Brígh finally, though not without reluctance, selected just one meal out of the vast choices. As they were served soups and salads and complimentary appetizers while they waited for their entrees, she inquired where her brother's new wife was and why she was not able to join them for lunch, and she was disappointed to find that Jessica was feeling a bit under the weather from the long flight overseas. It was a shame because she had been looking forward to seeing her.

"We can visit her before I take you home later," Connor offered, a pleased grin on his face.

Brígh had been the first in their family to warm up to Jessica, if only for the reason that she made her brother deliriously happy. One of the things that had won Brígh over was the fact that Jessie had not been after Connor for their family's wealth, and if fact, had been unaware that he even came from old money when they had met, unlike a few of the gold digging women he had dated in the past. Jessica was nothing like them, and once she had Brígh's acceptance, it had not been difficult to incorporate her into their family. As far as Brígh was concerned, Jessica was her sister now. Family was not always blood, but it was family nonetheless.

Brígh nodded. "That would be great. I haven't had a chance to see her since we saw you off on the cruise,"

"She missed you too," he told her. "You've become her best friend…"

"Not just a best friend," Brígh said gently. "She's my sister."

Connor's smile was so wide that it almost physically hurt, and he leaned over the table to give her a kiss on the cheek to show her just how happy it made him feel to hear that his sister thought of his wife as family. He never made it close enough to actually give her the kiss, however, and he pulled back sharply as his glass of water suddenly pitched forward, spilling across his chest and further dripping down his pants. He hissed at the coldness of the ice and cursed slightly at the state of his clothes, grabbing at his napkin to try and clean some of the water up. Strangely enough all of the liquid seemed to have ignored the table all together and had only managed to get on him.

"Damn it," he sighed, standing from his seat. "Guess I leaned in a bit too close." Connor excused himself to the restroom so he could attempt to dry himself off, and Brígh could only laugh softly as he retreated because she had the strangest feeling of déjà vu, as if something similar had happened to her.

While he was still absent from the table, their server brought out the entrees. Glancing toward the direction her brother had disappeared, she silently willed him to finish quickly because the scent of the food made her stomach growl, all previous thoughts of nausea disappearing with a sudden hunger replacing it. After five minutes, she was unable to resist temptation caused by the delicious scent of the food, and Brígh discreetly loaded her fork with a small portion. She savored the first bite of her meal, the explosion of flavor on her tongue making her eyes fall closed involuntarily as she slowly chewed the morsel. It was heavenly, and she cursed herself for not making a reservation herself before this day.

It was almost as if the food itself was enchanted, and she could feel all of the love and care the chef had poured into it while cooking. Who knew food could have such an effect on someone? She drew the fork out of her mouth slowly, her tongue flicking out to catch some of the sauce on her bottom lip.

Everest eyes glided open lazily and she was quick to place the fork back down, so that her brother would be none the wiser of her sneaking a bite, although she suddenly had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. She looked up, wondering if her brother _had_ caught her in the act, though he was still nowhere in sight. Casting her gaze around the quiet restaurant, she searched for anyone who could have been watching her.

Brígh found it extremely difficult to breathe for reasons she did not understand when she noticed that there was, indeed, a man staring at her. He was behind the serving bar just outside of the door that led to the kitchens, nearly on the complete opposite side of the room. He looked vaguely familiar, though he was too far away for her to make any true distinction, though there was something about him that garnered some recognition.

A tremble surged through her as dark, midnight blue eyes rested solely on her.

It was as if the rest of the world had melted away into nothingness and they were the only two people here, the way he stared at her so powerful. She half expected him to smile at her, and reveal the prominent dimples she was somehow sure he possessed. He did not move, he did not smile—he was still as a statue. She swallowed nervously at the intensity of what his gaze implied, and she was strangely calm and not worried… but shaken nonetheless.

And then something in his features changed, and his eyes slid away from her to something beside her, his face darkening in obvious displeasure. It was intimidating, though she had no time to think about it because she sensed movement beside her, and found herself staring at her brother as he retook his seat. He had yet to look at her, too busy commenting on how good the food looked, and she took that moment to calm herself down.

"… was able to use the hand dryers to get most of the water off," Connor was saying. "Got a few strange looks from some of the other blokes in there, but who cares. I'm mostly dry now. You know, I am truly surprised that you were able to restrain yourself and wait for me, though I'm sure you snuck a bite or two…"

Brígh allowed her brother's voice to wash over her like a calming wave, soothing her racing heart. "Just one," she defended weakly. "You know me too well,"

Their conversation was light and calm for the rest of their meal, menial topics such as how Brígh was doing in her classes at the university, or if Connor and Jessica had any future plans to move out of the small apartment they were currently residing in. Throughout it all, however, Brígh had become increasingly uneasy about the intense blue eyes watching her. The fact that this stranger was watching her so raptly was not what made her uneasy; it was the fact that she was _not_ uneasy that he was watching her that was making her uncomfortable. She should feel at least a bit uncomfortable that he was staring at her, and she wasn't and her own feelings were confusing her.

By the time their desert arrived, Brígh had begun periodically glancing over to the serving bar, and had caught sight of bright blue eyes every single time before she quickly turned away. Connor had yet to notice her suspicious behavior, too enraptured with his own treat to notice how off kilter she was at the moment. She was grateful because should he have noticed, she would have had to stumble through an explanation and she happened to be a terrible liar. He would demand answers, and once he discovered her promiscuous activities last night, there would be a manhunt.

The young woman was half tempted to stalk over to the bar under the pretense of ordering herself a drink—not that she would actually buy a drink. Never, _ever again!_—just to question him and his intentions. She knew she was aesthetically appealing. Cadence had almost forced her into applying at a modeling agency once, though their father had forbidden it because he refused to have their faces plastered over magazines and ogled at by the masses. She was confident enough to say that she was pretty... but this was simply ridiculous!

Just as she was gathering her courage to do just that, a young woman approached the man. Brígh recognized her easily as the waitress as the one serving their table. Linda, she recalled, and she frowned slightly as the brunette girl began gesturing almost angrily at the man. She watched them argue quietly behind the bar, their body language speaking of agitation and a kind of familiarity in the way they were tense though still comfortable enough to move in so close to each other so no one could overhear their conversation.

Brígh felt something painful tug at her heart as the man with the blue eyes soothed Linda with a gentle hand on her shoulder, his eyes softening as he touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. She looked away, something inside of her not wanting to witness the intimate moment between them. Her stomach churned uncomfortably, and she stood quickly, excusing herself from the table. She smiled reassuringly at Connor when he looked up briefly from his desert in concern of her sudden movement, and by the look in his eyes he had finally realized that she was at least nervous. She retreated towards the ladies room to avoid answering just yet. He would probably leave question her when she returned but for right now she just wanted to be alone.

Just for a moment, to collect herself.

Pausing at the door to the restroom, Brígh could not help but turn her head slightly, just to get one last look over at the bar. She should have been pleased that his attention had found a new target, not... _this_. She felt anxious, and a bit irritated. And she tensed as she witnessed Linda suddenly surging forward and wrapping her arms around the man's neck, burying her face against his chest. An irrational anger filled her veins as she watched the open display between them, which only intensified as the young woman stood on her toes to place a chaste kiss to the man's chin.

The sound of glass bursting apart into thousands of tiny fragments quite effectively shattered the moment, as well as the peaceful atmosphere of the entire restaurant. It had happened so abruptly that all of the guests jolted at the earsplitting intrusion, some even starting so badly that they had fallen out of their chairs. The sound was akin to a gunshot, though not quite. It had been a wine bottle that had broken, the remnants of the vicious maroon liquid pooling around the remains of the bottle, dripping down the sides of the bar.

Brígh herself was staring at the broken glass with an air of disbelief shrouding her, a frown on her face as she replayed what had happened in her mind. The wine had been directly in her line of sight, being that the man had set it down just before he and the waitress had begun to argue. Had she not been staring in that direction so intently, she would have just assumed that someone had simply knocked it over or dropped it, causing it to break. It was a logical conclusion, one which several people had already come to and gone back to their meals in peace.

Only… that was _not_ what had occurred.

The only two people near enough to have done so, to have been so careless as to have knocked it over or allowed it to slip from their hands, had been melded together in an intimate embrace, both of which were now looking at the remains of the accident with deep frowns of trepidation. Brígh might have been the only person to have seen what had truly happened to it... but what she seen was just not possible. It made no sense to her rational mind. It could not have happened the way she had saw it, or how she _thought _she saw it. Because things like that just didn't happen outside of fantasy books without some sort of reasonable explanation. There had to have been some kind of buildup of pressure inside of the bottle, just like carbonation in a bottle of soda that had been shaken too much.

Yes. That was it. A build up of pressure... that was all.

Because no one had touched the bottle… it had _exploded_.

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»****End****«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»****Chapter****«·´¯·.¸**

Okay, so I may just have to start working on this regardless, because it has become a nice distraction when I get hung up on my other story. Speaking of I'm hoping to finish the next chapter of _Finding Yourself_ by the end of this week, for those who are interested!

Lynx


	6. The Restaurant

**¸.·´¯·»****Chapter Five****«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»**_The Restaurant_**«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

There had been a rather large crowd milling around the front entrance of _Charmed_ since the moment the staff had arrived, and it had only continued to grow as the clock drew nearer to opening at noon. The staff had been working for the past hour, preparing the tables and touching up areas that the cleaning staff of last night may have missed. It usually only took them half an hour to get everything set up, though given the mood their employer had been in the past few days, everyone had taken to arriving early so that everything would be in pristine condition by the time she arrived.

When the owner and head chef, Piper Halliwell, finally made her appearance, the entire staff had tensed slightly, expecting her to be just as disagreeable as she had been the previous day, and the days before that. However, much to their pleasant surprise, she was smiling the moment she walked through the door, humming a soft tune to herself before she tied her apron and her black chef coat on and set about washing her hands thoroughly so she could begin preparing the sauces for the many dishes they served.

General looks of confusion followed the pleasant return of their kind hearted employer, instead of the snippy and loud doppelganger that had replaced her four days ago, though no one would complain about it. Moments later, two more familiar faces emerged from the staff lounge in the back, and began refreshing the water bowls for the candles that were situated on each table. The youngest, Melinda, worked here five days out of the week, and even the middle child, Chris, was a commonplace working in the kitchens during the weekends when they were busiest. Though seeing the eldest son of Piper among them was much less frequent. He would occasionally cover shifts once in a while, either as a bartender or as a waiter, when someone called in sick or couldn't make it. He was not allowed to cover for the chefs or the sous chefs however. Everyone knew that, as a general rule, he was not allowed to enter the kitchens unless he was just picking something up. He had a tendency to… _burn_ food… and the pan it was in… and the stove it was cooking on… and the walls around it.

Piper made it absolutely clear that her eldest son was never allowed to cook in her restaurant.

And seeing Wyatt walking around, in an outfit that was most definitely _not_ the standard uniform, they all realized why their boss was in such a good mood today. Melinda, too, had been in quite an upset and angry mood this past week, though nowhere near in the same state as her mother. She had been cranky the first night, complaining that her brother was being stupid to anyone within hearing distance, and the next day she had clearly been worried though no less irritable. The third day she had been upset enough to cry, and had to leave early because she almost dropped an entire tray of hot food on their customers while attempting not to start bawling.

Today, however, she was clearly and utterly pissed off, despite the fact that her brother was apparently safe and sound and right beside her. She roughly bumped into his shoulder several times as everyone continued to set up, stomped heavily on his foot while he began setting out the stools at the bar, and even kicked him in the shins after exchanging a few harsh words. It was an amusing sight, the rest of the staff knowing to stay far away from the angry teenager as she made it her mission to make her brother miserable.

Wyatt himself was gritting his teeth and attempting to give his sister a wide berth, though she made it a point to approach him almost every five minutes until the restaurant finally opened. The lunch crowed was always a lot quieter than the dinner crowd, and people tended to drink less this early in the afternoon. He had to make the occasional martini or pour a glass of wine for the first hour, and he even had to make a _Shirley Temple_ once or twice, though he simply stood and watched people come and go for the most part. He preferred working the evening shifts, because at least people wanted to drink liquor at night and kept him busy enough not to be so bored.

A little after one o'clock, Wyatt found himself feeling strangely anxious, and it took him several moments to realize that he felt a strange _pull_ to look towards the front entrance. And so he did, and for a moment timed seemed to stop around him as he focused his gaze upon the young woman with dark burgundy hair. He nearly choked on the glass of water he was drinking, swallowing thickly and briefly wondering if he was simply imagining her standing there.

Guilt he had ruthlessly pushed down to be later brooded upon resurfaced with a vengeance as he spotted the poorly concealed dark circles beneath her eyes, though it was replaced not a moment later with a pleasant sort of warmth as a breathtaking smile alit her face as she gazed all around her, her emerald eyes joyfully taking in the high chandeliers and the subtle decorations of the restaurant. It pleased him that she was in high spirits, at least. She looked just as beautiful as he remembered, wearing a simple peasant blouse and a pair of jeans. Her hair was hanging in loose curls around her face, and she seemed so happy that he couldn't help the smile that worked its way onto his own face.

The pleasant warmth and the smile faltered, however, no more than a moment later as soon as he realized that she was not alone. Her arm was linked with the much more bulky, muscled arm of a man. He was taller than her, wearing a ridiculous tee shirt stretched over a wide chest with a beat up old jacket over it, ratty jeans that had holes large enough to see his knees, and unlaced boots. He had a hat on as well, an old black _beanie_ that made his head look far too small for his body, and there was the makings of a scruffy beard on his face. He looked distinctly out of place among the elegant yet comfortable atmosphere of the restaurant, and even more out of place at the arm of such a beautiful young woman.

Wyatt developed an instant and unwarranted dislike of the man, unintentionally twisting the rag he used to tidy up spills between his hands as he watched them be escorted to a table. He idly wiped down the counter in front of him, despite having done it not more than ten minutes ago, his eyes glued to the redhead as she gave the man a quick hug before taking her seat and eagerly opening her menu, excitement clearly painted across her face as her eyes darted back and forth. Her companion was clearly amused, a reluctant smile on his own face as he too looked through the menu.

Wariness filled Wyatt as he watched the very irate Melinda begin to approach the table, a protest already on the tip of his tongue as she passed by the bar, though he held back as soon as he saw that she had calmed down a bit already and was smiling brightly, though obviously not sincerely even if he was probably the only one to realize it. He watched the proceedings with rapt attention as his sister greeted the two with a false pleasantness, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as she retreated to get their drink orders.

He was not even sure why he was nervous about his sister interacting with his… with Brígh. It was not like Melinda had been the one gifted with telepathy or visions. She had no knowledge of Brígh or the slight indiscretion they had committed together. And Brígh obviously knew nothing about his little sister. So he should not be wary about the two of them talking, because it was in an official capacity and not an actual conversation. He tried to release some of his tension, a task he found was increasingly difficult the more he continued to watch the interaction between Brígh and her… friend.

Wyatt was absolutely _not_ jealous of how close they seemed, or how easy their conversation was. He could recall how easy it was talking to Brígh. Her calm and attentive demeanor had him nearly spilling his every deep dark secrets to her last night within mere hours, and he doubted that all of it was a loose tongue from the alcohol. He wasn't jealous… perhaps a bit envious that this man got to have a wonderful lunch with a beautiful woman that Wyatt was attracted to. But it wasn't jealousy—

_What the hell does he think he's doing_? Wyatt thought darkly, his knuckles turning bone white with tension as he gripped the counter. He watched with critical eyes as the grungy looking man begin to lean his upper body across the table, his neck extending in a move that would have been obvious to a child. He was leaning in for a kiss. _Oh, hell no!_ He glowered, positively _glowered_ at the man, and abruptly the glass of water tipped itself over all over the front of the man's clothing without anyone ever touching it.

The boiling anger in his veins suddenly cooled, and Wyatt inwardly winched at how childish he was being, though that did nothing to stop him from watching victoriously as the man scrubbed helplessly at his clothes with a napkin. Not that it would help, because the man would still be wearing that ridiculous shirt and those hideous pants and the stupid boots. The man eventually retreated to the restrooms to see if he could clean up a bit and Wyatt released his crushing grip once he was out of sight. It had been an accident, his powers reacting because he… because he… he didn't like seeing public displays of affection. That's all. He was _not _jealous.

Wyatt groaned miserably, throwing the rag down with a heavy sigh, resisting the urge to grip his head in dismay. He was jealous, completely and utterly jealous… and more than a bit hurt. He could vaguely recall offering to take Brígh to this very restaurant last night, with the promise of introducing her to the best chocolate cake recipe ever made. And seeing her here now with someone that was most definitely _not him_ was not improving his mood for anything. In fact his mood was swiftly deteriorating with each passing moment, all because of some man he had never even met. He had no right to be jealous of that man, or lash out with a petty need to assert himself. He had given up having any claims to this particular young woman by vanishing this morning without a trace.

So what if she apparently had a boyfriend… and who was to say that it was even her boyfriend? She said nothing about being committed last night that he could remember, and he knew that yesterday had been her birthday. A friend could have easily reserved a table here as a surprise to her, as a gift. In fact he rather liked this scenario, much better than what he had originally assumed. He had friends that were girls, which meant that she could have friends that were guys. It was none of his business who she was friends with yet anyway… or at all. Damn it.

"I'm going crazy," he muttered lowly.

"You think?" Melinda sneered as she slapped down an order for a glass of wine on the counter in front of him. He watched her practically stalk away angrily, before filling the order and sending it off with another waiter. Melinda herself was still a minor, and therefore not allowed to touch anything containing alcohol yet. She could take the orders for it, she just had to have one of the older employees serve it. He turned back just in time to see his sister carry out a tray with the order for Brígh and her companion. He watched with growing amusement as Brígh fidgeted in her seat, throwing several glances towards the restrooms as the food sat untouched in front of her. She finally gave into temptation and stole a bite, and there was an expression of pure contentment and bliss on her face.

There was nothing sexual about her expression, nothing at all to garner the reaction he was having by watching her savor that one bite. And yet he swallowed a thickness lodged in his throat, tugging gently at his tie to loosen it some so he could remember how to breathe. His pupils dilated as he watched her long, graceful throat swallow, a soft pink tongue darting out clean her lip of a drop of sauce. Wyatt was sure he looked ridiculous, his eyes glued to her form as she leisurely opened her eyes. She paused momentarily, and soon her head tilted from side to side, her eyes gliding around the vast room searchingly. And then she looked directly at him, and he fought the instinctive urge to look away for being caught. Her eyes widened slightly as she obviously realized he was staring at her in a very penetrating sort of way, and he waited for any flash of recognition from her so that he could approach her and interrupt her date because he was hating everything about this.

Only… only there was no recognition save for a brief flash in her eyes before confusion dominated her delicate features. She stared at him just as intently as he stared at her, a frown of deep contemplation on her face. It felt like a physical blow to the stomach as he realized what her reaction meant. He was pretty sure she did not recognize him. And Wyatt was torn with indecision of whether he should sing a halleluiah chorus or mourn the fact that he was so forgettable to her. Then again she had consumed enough alcohol last night to make last night simply disappear, especially since it was her first night drinking so heavily. He himself had trouble remembering her this morning.

A trembled surged through her body, and he exhaled slowly as he watched.

Wyatt wished he could smile at her, or wave at her or at least do anything other than stand here like a right idiot. _What is she thinking? _He cursed the fact that he had been deprived of that particular ability, unlike his younger cousin. He found it difficult to move, and even harder to breathe. He almost wished she _did_ recognize him. Did she even know what had happened last night? Did she even remember _anything_ from last night? He sincerely hoped she had at least _some_ recollection of what had transpired between them, even if she wanted to never speak to him again, because her never remembering would be just a cruel twist of fate.

A moment later his features clouded over when he spotted the approach of her companion and whatever spell between the two of them was broken by his reappearance. He seemed to have dried up enough, unfortunately. Wyatt was absolutely _not_ tempted to _accidentally_ tip the man's soda over him as he retook his seat just to make him leave again. He really wasn't… okay, maybe just a little bit tempted to do it. But he wouldn't, because he had a feeling that his staring had made Brígh uneasy. And why wouldn't it, if she had no idea who he was? He probably looked like a shady stalker with his rumpled shirt and stained apron, not to mention his hair. His sister had pulled back for him—he could still feel the scratches on his neck and scalp stinging from it—though it was still a tangled mess.

Wyatt tried to mind his own business as lunch continued on, and business picked up at the bar a bit for a while. Although no matter how hard he tried, he inevitably turned to look at the small alcove where the private table was located. He felt as if he was being pulled by some unseen force, as if she were a magnet and he had no choice in the matter. And he had to get himself under control. She noticed his constant staring, how could she not? He really _was _a stalker. And a bad one at that, because he was so blatant about it that he even managed to make his sister take notice of his staring as she walked by him to enter the kitchens.

"Okay, spill," she demanded, her hands resting on her hips in a motherly fashion.

"Spill what?" he asked, closing a bottle of wine and setting aside so he could look at her.

Melinda gave a slight stomp of her foot, disbelief and anger warring in her eyes. "I know you told Chris what happened, and why you took off," she said haughtily, leaning in closer as she began speaking rapidly and nearly swatting him in the face as she gestured angrily. Melinda was someone who spoke with her hands quite often, which could be potentially dangerous considering that she had inherited more from their mother than her looks and temperament. "You always tell _him _everything! And you never tell _me_ anything, and I was so worried about you, and you still keep ignoring me when I talk to you and I want to know what is going on because you're my brother and I care about you! And now you are acting really weird, and it's freaking me out!"

"Mel," Wyatt sighed, quelling her with a placating look. He placed a hand on her shoulder, frowning slightly as her chin quivered a bit, either from anger or hurt, it was hard to distinguish. "I am so sorry, Mel. I never meant to treat you different than Chris, I swear that I didn't. I just wasn't ready to talk about it when you asked earlier, and honestly, the only reason I told Chris was because he was patient and told me that he pretty much already had an idea why I took off."

"Will you tell me?" she questioned hopefully.

Wyatt closed his eyes briefly, the last of his good mood fading. He could never deny his baby sister anything. She had both he and Chris wrapped around her pinky finger, and he cursed himself for not telling her earlier. For one, it would have prevented quite a few bruises and scratches. "Gwen cheated on me."

For a moment, she seemed to have not understood what he was saying, and then as the words registered, hate flooded her honey brown eyes. "That conniving, evil _bitch_," she hissed, and Wyatt fought the instinctual urge to chastise her for calling his fiancée… _ex_ _fiancée_ a bitch. She happened to do it quite often anyway, and now he no longer had the heart or the need to defend Gwen from his sister's wrath. Melinda trembled slightly, trying to contain her anger, and she looked up at him pitifully. "Oh, Wy," she whispered sadly, no longer feeling any anger at him for disappearing or hurt for him not telling her what was going on sooner. She was still upset, just not for the same reason. She was upset _for him_ rather than at him.

"You look like you're about to cry," Wyatt observed, gently touching her cheek.

"She hurt you," Melinda told him. "She always hurts you."

"Not anymore."

Melinda nodded. "And the wedding?"

"We never set a date, so we had nothing to cancel," he told her. "So as soon as I feel I can talk to her without wanting to throttle her, I'll get the engagement ring back," He would have let Gwen keep the ring, and would have been content to never see her again. Only the ring was a family heirloom, first worn by his great grandmother for her first and only successful marriage. It also happened to be the only ring that had belonged to the notorious Penny Halliwell that the formidable woman had not cursed in some way… which in hindsight was quite unfortunate.

"Have you told our parents yet," she asked, though she already knew he likely answer.

Wyatt winced at the mere thought of _that_ particular conversation. Their mother was likely to do more than just destroy every window in the attic as soon as he confessed. "Of course not," he rolled his eyes at her. "That will be a _very_ delicate conversation. Which means that we will not speak of it until everyone has calmed down to avoid bloodshed. Only Chris, and now you, know."

Melinda smiled in satisfaction and suddenly launched herself at her brother, wrapping her thin arms tight around his neck as best as she could and buried her face into his chest. He was grateful that she was no longer angry with him, and he returned the embrace to soak up the comfort she was offering. He whispered his thanks for being upset on his behalf and trying to make him feel better, and she climbed to her tip toes and tried to kiss his cheek, though she was nearly a foot and a half shorter than him and ended up kissing his chin instead.

They were startled apart as a noise akin to a pistol going off sounded from beside them. It happened to be a sound they were both quite acquainted with, seeing as happened when either Melinda or their mother let their anger get the best of them, so their reactions were not as severe as the poor patrons around them. The two siblings eyes the broken wine bottle warily, only the base of the bottle remaining intact while the rest had literally burst apart from the inside out and had shattered in a wide circle on the counter, the merlot spilling over the edge and down to the floor.

Wyatt raised an eyebrow at his sister. "Are you really _that_ mad?"

Melinda looked up at him in puzzlement. "Don't look at me," she muttered, sounding completely bewildered. "My anger died down a few minutes ago. And momma is in the kitchen, so I don't think she heard your confession," She shrugged uncertainly. "Maybe it was you,"

"… You mean I developed _another_ power?" He frowned, clearly displeased with this turn of events. "I have too many of them as it is,"

"Rub it in, why don't you," Melinda groused, crossing her arms. "Between you and Chris, I already have an inferiority complex. Why must you continue to make it worse?"

Wyatt gave her a decidedly unsympathetic look. "Don't you have customers?"

"And you have a mess to clean up," she retorted, turning her heel and flouncing off.

Shaking his head with an amused snort at how quickly his baby sister's moods could shift, Wyatt began to gingerly knock the broken glass into the wastebasket that was kept behind the bar, grabbing a bottle of sanitizer so he could clean up the sticky mess it had left behind. The moment he had completed his task, he once again found himself glancing back at the table in the far corner, frowning when he realized that the object of his obsession was nowhere in sight, and yet her unwelcome companion remained.

Disappointment settled in the pit of his stomach, and he sighed as he leaned his hip against the countertop, half tempted to pour himself a drink despite his earlier resolution this morning. He apparently needed to calm down, otherwise he might just shatter something else. Perhaps it was merely because his head was still positively killing him at the moment, and that is what had set off that second burst of magic. One outburst of excessive magic was dismissible because he had been being petty at the time but two meant that he had less control at the moment then he had thought he did. He could not afford to have another flux of accidental magic. His mother would not appreciate it in her sanctuary either, so he either had to calm down or quit looking at that table.

After an inward debate with himself, he opted for the latter, though he was unable to resist one last look.

Glancing at the table once more, the young man was pleased to see that Brígh had returned to her seat. She and her companion had apparently finished their meal, and he only just noticed that they were both eating desert. Wyatt could care less what the man had been eating, though he could not help the way the involuntary smile stretched across his face as he realized what Brígh had ordered for her desert. She had ordered a slice of cake… a slice of _chocolate_ cake to be precise. Whether she had recognized him consciously was irrelevant, because some part of her obviously _did_ remember.

That was enough for now.

Wyatt spent the rest of his shift smiling in a rather self-satisfied sort of way, even as he had to watch the redhead leave with the other man on her arm. If that man really was her date for the day, he had a feeling that he had still won even though neither of them had been aware that they were competing for anything.

Dinner was tense that night inside of the manor, so much that Wyatt had sat in his seat pushing around the wonderful meal their mother had made with his fork instead of inhaling it as he normally did, idly listening to the hands of the antique clock as time ticked by. His good mood deteriorated with each passing moment with this unnatural silence. Dinner was usually a lively affair in this house, full of meaningless conversations to long and serious talks.

This silence was deafening, and nerved wracking.

Chris had spoken to him earlier when his shift had ended, reminding him of the fact that eventually people were going to start to realize that weeks had passed without a mention of the wedding between him and Guinevere, and then he would have to confess. He just wanted it all to go away, which had been the reason he had disappeared to begin with. He wanted to get away from it all. He wanted to ignore that it had ever happen.

_Deep breaths_, he told himself knowing that his procrastination was only causing more tension among his family, standing with his practically untouched plate in his hands. Both his brother and his sister were keeping it a secret for him, which meant that they were anxious around and though they were keeping it together he could tell that his mother had sensed that something was going on between them.

Bracing his hands on the countertop near the sink, Wyatt tensed as he felt the gentle hand of his mother resting upon his tout back, rubbing the tense muscles soothingly. He knew he could only put off explaining why he had scared the hell out of his family for so long, their patience already wound so tightly that it could snap back any minute and it was time to stop being selfish, to stop denying them the truth.

Lowering his head, he let out a humorless chuckle at the fact that he not even managed to keep this to himself for a day, and he had to concede that it would probably be for the best this way. A heavy sigh, laced with all of his guilt and heartache, escaped his lips as he finally pushed away from the counter to slowly turn and face his mother, hesitantly meeting her soft chocolate brown eyes.

"What is it, baby?" she asked him, her hand rising to cup the side of his face.

Wyatt smiled sorrowfully, grasping the hand within his own. His eyes flickered to the threshold of the kitchen door, where Chris and Melinda both giving him an encouraging smile before they retreated upstairs to give them some privacy. "You should probably sit down," he told her, moving towards the conservatory, where there was some comfortable seating. He gave his mother a weary glance as she sat on the sofa, adding, "And you should probably keep your hands in your lap,"

Dark eyebrows rose at the request, though she complied and he shifted nervously, opting to keep standing while her crossed his own arms over his chest. "A few days ago I stopped by to surprise Gwen with lunch…" he told them, frowning deeply as he recounted everything. "She had no idea that I would be coming over, because I was supposed to be busy booking a band for the club and interviewing for a new employee, but Chris was kind enough to take care of it because she and I hadn't had much time together recently… I used my key, and…" He ran a hand through his hair, his mouth downturned, finishing softly, "… She was with someone else."

Despite the fact that her hands were wrapped securely around each other in a tight grip, the television in the corner of the room abruptly burst apart into dozens of pieces. Wyatt eyed the mess briefly, though continued on as if nothing happened because really, there was not much to be done quite yet because should he fix it, it would likely only get blown up again in a minute.

"When I confronted her about it," he said, his voice softening until it was nearly inaudible. "She first said that it had been a mistake, only her… friend… denied it, saying they had been together for about five months…" Every vase and flowerpot in the room suddenly shattered as his mother failed to contain her anger. "She denied it at first, though it was clear that he was… well acquainted with her… and when she realized that I was going to leave, she decided to place the blame on me. She said that I was pathetic for believing that I was worth her time and that she never really intended to marry me… and…"

Wyatt could not bring himself to continue with the rest of what she had said, most of which was still too fresh in his mind that he did not want to relieve it. It was probably a better that he stop anyway, considering that all of the windows in the house had been destroyed by the halted conclusion, sharp blades of broken glass glinting dangerously upon the floors and the ground outside. His mother was shaking with suppressed rage, though she managed to contain most of it due to his utterly defeated disposition.

Before he could even make to protest, his mother had him trapped within her arms, reminiscent of the way she held him that very morning. He was helpless against her tight grip, and could only hold onto her as she cried on his behalf, apologizing to him again and again even though she was not at fault for the hurtful actions and words from Gwen. She pulled away minutes later, sniffing slightly and pulling him down so that she could press a kiss to his forehead as she used to when she tucked him into bed.

"How are you doing, baby?"

"… Better," he replied honestly. "Probably a lot better than I should be."

A watery smile was aimed at him, and she adjusted the collar of his shirt absently. "You are entitled to be as moody and mean as you want for a two week moping period," she told him. "After that I still expect you to apologize to everyone, though you get out of telling your aunts. I'll take care of it for you,"

Wyatt smiled at her gratefully, and she retreated to the kitchen with the promise of the best cure for a broken heart that this family had—some of her homemade chocolate ice cream. There was an upside to having a professional chef for a mother. The treat would take an hour at least to be ready, so he walked to his room, only to sigh when he found his brother sitting atop of his bed, flipping through one of his medical books. Wyatt had been studying in his spare time, and he eventually planned to enroll in a school to get a degree, though currently he had his hands full with running his own business... and Gwen had told him that he was already successful enough that he needn't pursue another career.

"Is this going to become a habit?" he asked dryly.

"Melinda said she would take care of the mess mom made," Chris told him succinctly, easily ignoring the question as he closed the book with a snap. "She also said you were acting weird today."

Wyatt stifled a groan at the tone of his voice. _This_ was the brother he expected to greet him this morning, the one who would have no difficulty hammering him with questions until he broke down and told him everything no matter how reluctant he was. He gave the dark haired man a baleful glare, seating himself in his old desk chair after he snatched the book away from his brother. And then he began to describe what had happened at Charmed, of how their sister had terrorized him for the first few hours, and how he had childishly used his telekinesis to pour water over the pour, unsuspecting man that had been unfortunate enough to accompany the woman he had, not more than twenty hours ago, slept with.

And Christopher, being the annoying little brother he was, found the entire situation absolutely hilarious, laughing uproariously at his expense. "It's not funny, Christopher!" he insisted, growing in frustration as the other man continued to laugh, holding onto his sides. "Oh, just shut up."

"Come on, Wy," the younger man chuckled, his sea green eyes bright and crinkling with mirth at the corners. He was incredibly pleased with how things were progressing so far, and he had no problem expressing it. "Can you even remember the last time _you _lost control of your powers? Even for something as small as knocking a glass of water over? Because you were jealous?" He smiled to himself when there was no answer. "And you did it _twice_ in one day…"

Wyatt frowned at him as he crossed his arms defensively. "I could have hurt someone," he insisted. "I could have hurt Mel. She was standing right beside me when that bottle of wine exploded. What if a piece of the glass had flown too far and embedded itself in her arm or her face? Would you be laughing then?"

"You would have healed her two seconds later, and she would have been a bit pissy for a few days," Chris returned easily, and Wyatt inwardly had to concede that his brother had a point. He would never have let her walk around hurt if he could help it. "This girl has you really worked up…"

A startled look entered his eyes. "What?"

Chris was staring at him, a speculative look in his own eyes. "You really like her, don't you,"

Though it was phrased as a question, both of them heard it for what it really was. He was stating a fact. Wyatt could not deny it, because even if he did his brother knew exactly what he was feeling. His little brother had inherited their aunt Phoebe's gift of empathy, allowing him to magically sense the emotions of the people around him. And he and Chris were very close, so it stood to reason that he would be more in tuned with Wyatt's emotions despite the fact that he tried to mask them.

"… She left quite the impression," he answered vaguely.

Chris only nodded thoughtfully, throwing him a mischievous grin. "As long as it's not the harpy,"

Wyatt leaned back as he rolled his eyes, biting his tongue against the instinctual urge to give a scathing reply. "First of all, you will be pleased to know that I will no longer reprimand you for calling my _ex_ a harpy," he told him wryly, the grin on his brother's face only widening into a full out smile. "Second… you would probably like her. She was nothing like Gwen at all…" He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "And I have no idea if this is because we slept together and I am just not thinking clearly but I feel… drawn to her."

"… Maybe she is your soulmate," the younger man suggested to his confession. Chris had initially meant it as a jest, a comment that was not to be taken seriously. And yet, as soon as the words passed his lips, the brothers shared a considering look. Because there was a very real possibility that Wyatt and this girl could be soulmates, even though it was an extremely rare occurrence for anyone to ever find their one true match. This family had a habit of defying the laws of nature whereas _rarities _were concerned. "… Maybe you should talk to dad."

Leo Wyatt was their father, and he happened to be an expert on almost every magical phenomenon in existence. He was his firstborn son's namesake, as their mother had made it a tradition for the men in their family to inherit the maiden name of Halliwell instead. He did not live in the manor despite the fact that he was a very loving father and husband, and instead had to live in a city high beyond the clouds, where he could tend to his duties as an Elder, which were practically the government officials of a group of guardian angels known as whitelighters. It was his calling to watch over the magical population along with his fellows, and to keep the peace between other races throughout the world.

As an Elder he was highly sought after for advice, and that along with his other duties kept him busy but… he still managed to make time for his family, venturing down to the surface world at least twice a week, sometimes even more, just to spend time with them. He had already been down here for too long when Wyatt had disappeared, assisting in every way he could to find his son. It was yet another thing Wyatt could feel guilty for, because it would be at least another week before their father would have time to come down. That is not to say they could not go up there to visit him, though that was usually only reserved for emergencies when they desperately needed help.

"No," Wyatt shook his head in answer, giving a mock shudder at the thought. "Even if could, _no_. Not asking him about soulmates. He would first want to know _why_, and since he still thinks I'm engaged so he would obviously assume that I was asking because of Gwen. Can you just imagine the horror on his face? He was never fond of her either," He narrowed his eyes as his brother's lips twitched in amusement. "Don't you dare laugh again, Christopher."

Chris only scoffed, though obediently hid his amusement. "So what are you going to do about your girl troubles?"

"… When are you going to get a girl of your own so you can butt out of my love life?" Wyatt asked in return, watching with delight as his brother sputtered, cheeks taking on a red hue. "Cat got your tongue?" he questioned at the lack of answer, chuckling deeply as he stood. "Come on, Christopher, you have the same genes as this," He gestured down and down the front of his body. "So we know you aren't lacking in the looks department,"

"Oh shut up," Chris muttered petulantly.

Wyatt only grinned. "Whatever you say, little brother,"

Chris huffed at him. He knew his brother was only teasing, as older brothers were prone to do but he had always had trouble with women. Wyatt was the one with all of charm when it came to them, with his dimpled smile and smooth way of talking, where Chris was awkward and would stumble over his words throughout the entire conversation, making himself look like an idiot.

People had always looked at the two brothers differently. His older brother had been an athlete growing up, and it had always reflected with his physique, while Chris had tended to strengthen his mind by reading books, and he had been a bit more on the scrawny side. Wyatt was handsome… Chris was _cute_. It had bothered him when they were younger, not entirely but enough that he had grown snappy once or twice when his brother was chosen over him.

Of course the envy and resentment had not lasted long, not with the big lug being his incredibly selfless and overprotective self. It was impossible to stay mad at Wyatt for anything, even when the first girl to ever pay attention to Chris had only been going out with him to catch his older brother's attention. Unfortunately enough for her, she had completely underestimated the loyalty his brother had for him, and his inherent sense of nobility.

The poor girl had been publicly humiliated when a very livid Wyatt Halliwell had approached her once the truth had been revealed. His voice had not risen below a whisper and he had not struck out them in any way at all. He had told them in no uncertain terms that if they ever came near Chris again, they would regret it. And it was not when Wyatt was loud that he should be taken seriously, it was when he was quiet that he meant business. He had made it absolutely clear that anyone willing to use his brother would not be tolerated.

Not to say that he was completely inexperienced. But still, it had been months since he had been on an actual date let alone be in an actual relationship. He had mostly grown out of the awkwardness thankfully, though he still stumbled when speaking to women, and he had decided to join Wyatt during his workouts and runs. His hard work had paid off, and he had finally managed to gain some muscle. Earlier this year he had decided to shave all of his hair off, which seemed to have the desired effect of eliminating the last _cute_ factor, though some of it had managed to grow back already.

Now people noticed both his brother _and_ him, though it matter very little considering that Chris had yet to find anyone who was worth his time. Even if he did manage to find someone, there was always the fact that he would essentially have to lie to them about who he really was unless he was lucky enough to find someone who was already aware of magic. His aunt had spoken to him once about the heartache of dating a mortal, of keeping the secret until the relationship began to deteriorate. And even if he did explain and prove that he was not insane and should be on medication, there was still a chance that they would be unable to accept him for it and walk away.

Chris sighed softly, and suddenly recalled the original reason he had come down to his brother's room. Not just to give him a hard time about why he had apparently been acting odd this afternoon. He had been on his way down here when Melinda had told him about the strange behavior. "Can I ask you a favor?" he asked hopefully, watching as Wyatt lifted an eyebrow curiously with a short nod on consent. "In my photography class, we are working on portraits. And so far my teacher is not impressed. Ninety percent of my pictures are of girls, because… well, let's face it, we're severely outnumbered in this family. Would you be willing to model for me?"

A skeptical eyebrow rose at the thought.

"You won't have to pose or anything," Chris hastened to add. "Just act normally. But my teacher is a woman, so…"

"Eye candy might get you a passing grade…?"

"Hey," Chris frowned at him, sounding a bit affronted. "I'm a good photographer! My photographs are good, and I could pass without—" He was interrupted as Wyatt began laughing. If not for the genuine amusement emitting from him and the crinkle to his eyes, Chris would have been content to tell him off. And yet, he found himself smiling back. "Okay, so yeah. It might get me a _better_ grade."

"Sure, Christopher," Wyatt agreed with a smirk. "You can probably get Eric and—"

"Already asked them," he sighed. "And honestly, it isn't so much the fact that all my pictures are of girls, just that fact that it's the _same_ girls that I always take pictures of."

Wyatt gave him a helpless shrug. "Beats me… maybe you should try people in the park,"

There was a speculative gleam in sea green eyes as Chris considered the words.

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»****End****«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»****Chapter****«·´¯·.¸**

I got a kick out of making them jealous of each others siblings for some reason. I have no idea why, but I did. Oh! And the next chapter of_ Finding Yourself_ might be a bit late. It will either be up later tonight or sometime tomorrow afternoon depending on how quickly I can get it finished.**  
**


	7. The Intruder

**¸.·´¯·»****Chapter Six****«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»**_The Intruder_**«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

"_Brígh…"_

Emerald green eyes pried open in the still of the night, the velvet purple sky illuminated with diamond starlight that twinkled down through the open curtains, which fluttered with the soft midnight breeze. Brígh shifted in her bed, her coverlet pulled up to her face as the cool autumn chill wafted through the window. She shivered slightly, blinking rapidly to rid herself from the remnants of sleep, a brief and baleful glare in the direction of the flickering curtains.

Today marked a total of one week that her sleep had been invaded by images that brought her nothing but conflicting emotions. The details of these reoccurring dreams seemed to fade away into nothingness as the day progressed, leaving behind only the emotions they evoked within her in their wake, though with each day she could recall small snippets of information from the dreams. She just wished they would stop all together.

Brígh was had deduced early on that these dreams were likely drawing on what little she recalled from her birthday last week, and that the mysterious man featured in them was actually the man she had brought home. It was just a speculation because she was still having trouble remembering much of that night, though she was confident that she was right because this man was somehow familiar to her.

Tired with sleep, Brígh heaved a sigh when she realized that falling back asleep would be an impossible task and pushed the covers down with her legs. She shivered again, quickly standing from her bed and approaching the window. She could not recall even opening it before she went to bed, though she must have because she had been alone last night and surely she would have noticed if Alec or Cadence had bound inside—they both were always too cheerful and obnoxious when they came to visit her.

Closing the window and switching the latch to secure it in place, Brígh pulled on her robe and ventured out into the living room area of her apartment. Situated in the corner was a chair that featured a sturdy and round rattan frame, curved in almost a bowl shape, sitting atop a durable base with a worn and decorative and plump cushion inside of it. A black hardcover book and set of whittled down pencils lay forgotten there, and she scooped up the items as she sat down, making herself comfortable before drawing a blanket over her legs.

Brígh opened her book, smiling slightly as the faces of her friends and family appeared before her eyes with every turn of the page. There were drawing pads and scraps of papers with sketches scattered over every inch of her apartment. Some of her drawings were cartoonish and unrealistic, with depictions of fairies and mermaids. Others, such as her studies on people, were detailed intricately and etched with obvious care.

The smile began to fade as she reached about midway through the book on her quest for a blank page.

Perhaps they were the product of her taking from her surroundings and reality to help bridges the gap in her memories, taking the features of one stranger and forcing them onto one she wished she could remember. Therefore these more recent drawings were images inspired by the man she had seen the other day.

Penetrating midnight blue eyes done with colored pencils and charcoal. Pages after pages, from different angles and a change in the lighting, from regular pencil to inked lines from a pen… they were all still recognizable as the same person. She just could not get his eyes out of her mind. It was if these particular eyes had been seared into her brain and she could see nothing else.

Finally locating a blank page, the young woman pressed the tip of her pencil to the pristine white sheet. The eyes came easily after having etched them so many times, and she made the eyelids hooded as the soft image stared back at her. She darkened the iris to make them all the more realistic, and began adding the thick eyebrows that curved slightly.

For nearly an hour she continued to darken the image until it came into a sharp focus, using her pliable eraser to remove the shading to give it some shine instead, occasionally wiping her stained fingertips on her pajama bottoms because she was too intent in her work to stand to get a rag.

As she always did, Brígh attempted to add more to the features, such as the nose or at least the shape of the face, though she ended up blackening it out because no matter how hard she tried it just never looked quite right. It was dissatisfying when she decided that she could do no more to it, the same disappointment lingering in her chest as it did every time she finished one of these portraits. Her loopy signature scrawled at the bottom corner of the page, she shut the book with a wide yawn and set it aside.

Reluctantly standing from the comfortable chair, Brígh stretched her arms to the ceiling and glanced at the clock adorning her wall, wincing as she realized before shuffling her way into her bathroom. She grimaced when she saw her reflection, her hand threading through her hair as she expelled a sigh. She looked horrible, her eyes slightly red, irritated and dry, the skin beneath them slightly discolored from her lack of sleep. She had forgotten to remove the makeup she had applied this morning, and now it was smudged and smeared.

And the frown that pinched her brows was only making it look worse than it was.

Brígh approached the sink and turned on the warm water so she could wash her face in an attempt to make herself look at least marginally better. Closing her eyes briefly, she scrubbed at her eyelids with a soapy washrag, washing away the last remains of her eyeliner and shadow. She tensed suddenly, however, as a foreboding sense of unease surged through her, causing her hands to tremble and gooseflesh to rise on her arms.

All day long, Brígh had been feeling a bit… out of it. She had been anxious and worried since she had woken this morning, somehow knowing that something was wrong. It was as if she had been waiting for something bad to happen all afternoon long and into the night, and she had thought she was just being paranoid because by the time she had locked herself within the safety of her apartment and had gotten ready for bed, even though there had been no strange occurrences.

The feeling, however, never receded and she had been hard pressed to fall asleep.

Slowly the young woman lowered the washrag to the sink as she righted herself, a muted gasp escaping her as her eyes came to rest on the mirror in front of her. Her heart seemed to stop beating within her chest for a second, though a moment later it began to beat a rapid tempo against her ribcage, blood pounding within her ears. She abruptly felt short of breath as she stared at the figure shrouded within the shadows bathroom, just mere feet away from her.

Fear paralyzed her when it consciously registered to her that there was an intruder in her house. She wanted to run because somehow she just _knew_ that this person meant her harm, though her limbs were frozen in place, unwilling to respond to her. And then he took a slow step forward, the shadows unveiling his features with every step, revealing a rather the rather gruesome and disfigured face.

It was as if he had stepped directly out of a nightmare. His nose was slightly flat, a scar crudely etched down the bridge of it, ridges along his brow and his cheek bones with white bone protruding grotesquely from them as if they were horns. The eyes were a golden yellow, glowing almost the way a cats would in the dark, staring back at her hungrily through the mirror as a predatory grin stretched across his face, allowing the sharp serrated teeth to be seen.

Something glinted in the light, and wide, panic stricken eyes were drawn to it. It was some kind of double edged blade with a black handle. The silver engraved with various symbols while the handle itself had an emblem on it, as if it were a ceremonial dagger. He began to raise it threateningly, and suddenly she felt a burst of adrenaline and was in motion before she could even register the thought to move.

Before she could even move an inch, an arm shot out from behind her, wrapping around her shoulders. She was pulled back against his muscular chest, and the sharp blade of the knife was pressed against her cheek with enough force to sting, proving to her that he was willing to use the deadly object on her without remorse. She resisted the instinctive urge to struggle against her captor, knowing that should she move the blade would be used.

"No screaming, sweet little witch, speak not a word…" the man rasped, his breath huffing out against the back of her neck as he moved her hair to one side. "Such power… it's intoxicating… What a prize to have found…"

Brígh felt the cold metal of the knife slide down her cheek with no real pressure until it reached her throat, and he cruelly applied pressure until she cried out, small droplets of crimson blood to spill down her neck. Her heart was racing fiercely, pounding within her chest as if it were attempting to break free, her body trembling out of fear.

This man was meaning to kill her.

It was something she was absolutely sure of… and there would be nothing she could do to stop it. She could still see him through the mirror as his other hand slowly retracted from her shoulders, fingers brushing against her side as it slid to her waist, sharp talon like fingernails scratching along the delicate skin of her stomach as he lifted the hem of her night shirt up slightly.

The young woman felt a brief sense of panic, feeling his hand upon her bare flesh, and this was a different kind of panic than just fearing for her life. But he did not touch her otherwise, and instead drew the blade against her abdomen in a path of its own. "Time to die, little witch…" he told her in promise, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she felt his twist the knife to angle the tip of the blade upward to pierce her heart through her ribs.

"No!" Brígh cried with pain as it began to slip through the skin at a torturous pace, her hands quickly grasping ahold of his wrist as he continued to slowly drive the knife into her. The pain fueled her, and she suddenly snapped her head back forcefully, smashing the back of her skull into his face.

The impact hurt something terrible, and the back of her head throbbed because one of the sharp horns had connected painfully against her head, though it had the desired effect and he stumbled back, releasing her with surprise as he growled angrily, the sound more animal than human. The young woman wasted no time, emerald eyes bright and wild as she gave one quick glance around the room for a possible weapon. She found one in the form of the heavy, rectangular porcelain lid of the tank of the toilet, heaving it into her hands and swinging it at him.

The heavy object connected solidly with his head, cracking into two halves that fell on either side of him with a sickening sound. She was smart enough not to bother waiting to see if it had incapacitated him, bare feet pounding upon the wooden floors as she ran for the door. His angry snarls followed her all the way from the bathroom.

Agony surged throughout her entire body before she could reach the exit, faltering in her sprint and stumbling to the ground as she screamed. She was being pierced by thousands of little knives, each one going deeper and deeper than the last, and she collapsed into a sobbing heap upon the floor. She screamed even louder as the pain intensified, her hands gripping at her head as if the pressure might somehow ease the throbbing.

It stopped just as suddenly as it had begun, though phantom aches had fresh tears spilling from her eyes.

A clawed hand tangled in her hair and callously drew her up, and Brígh could not find it in her to stand, crumbling back onto her knees as he jerked her head back so that she was staring up into his cruel yellow eyes. "You shouldn't have done that," he tisked, his free hand lashing out at her so fast that her head snapped to the side with the force behind the strike, and she tasted blood as her lip was split.

The hand tangled in her hair tightened briefly, before he kicked her away from him harshly, ripping several locks of hair out as she fell away from him with the force. Brígh coughed brokenly, choking on the metallic taste of blood pooling in her mouth. Another kick was aimed at her stomach, and she rolled slightly and groaned breathlessly, while he chuckled. She curled in on herself, hand pressed against her abdomen in a futile attempt to relieve the pain.

"Your death was going to be quick," His hand enclosed around her throat, effortlessly lifting her up as she struggled to breath, her hands frantically trying to pry the tight grip away from her, her own fingernails catching at the delicate skin of her throat. "A knife to the heart…" He struck her again with his free hand, this time catching her across her temple and her vision blurred. "Now… now you are going to suffer…"

Through watery eyes, Brígh looked up at him, unable to see much other than a fuzzy outline as the blood raged in her head and the tears clinging to her lashes. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision as his fingers tightened even more, crushing her throat within his grasp.

Anger surged through her suddenly. At this cruel and evil man for attacking her, at herself for being so weak that she could do nothing to stop him from hurting her. She was at his mercy, and he clearly possessed none. He was _enjoying_ himself, torturing her with even just the thought of what he could do. She was angry that she was so _helpless_ against him. She glared at him, conveying the emotion quite clearing in her furious emerald eyes.

Quite abruptly the man released her, sharp talons clawing at her neck as he was pushed back fiercely by an unseen force. Surprise and outrage clouded his face as he flew through the air at a breakneck speed. His back impacted heavily with the glass wall that separated her bedroom from the rest of the apartment, causing it to splinter and break apart as he soared through it. The wall shattered a rain of glass down on the man as he finally hit the floor, and he laid there unmovingly.

Brígh stared at his prone body in shock, indecision on her face as she tried to process what happened for a split second before she grabbed her keys. She scrambled to unlock the door, and then she was running as fast as her legs could carry her. She bypassed the elevator completely, not confident that he would stay down this time to wait patiently for it to come to her floor. The stairwell was empty and her footsteps echoed loudly as she stumbled down them quickly, not pausing until she had reached the parking garage.

Fumbling with the remote to her own car, she pressed the auto start button on it, the engine roaring to live before she even reached the vehicle. The horn sounded as she unlocked it with another click of a button, practically yanking the door open and throwing herself inside the safety of the cab. She activated the lock immediately after the door was slammed closed, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she shifted the gears into place.

Bare feet worked the pedals as she backed out, and Brígh froze immediately as she spotted a bloodied figure barreling out of the stairwell doorway. He locked eyes with her, a snarl on his face as he placed himself between her car and the exit of the garage. Her knuckles were pure white as she gripped the steering wheel, accelerating the vehicle even as he ran towards her.

_Move, move, move…_ she pleaded internally, unwilling to stop even though he was still in the way.

The young woman shrieked as he impacted with the hood, the knife embedded with the windshield directly in front of her as he rolled over the roof of the car. She stared at the weapon, looking around it and the splintered glass so she would not crash before her eyes flickered to look at the rearview mirror, watching as the man stood impossibly with several visible injuries. He stared after her as if he wanted to pursue her further as she pulled out of the garage.

Despite the late hour the streets of the city were still as bustling as ever.

Brígh found herself hard pressed to continue following the rules of the road, having to ease up on the accelerator several times as she navigated her way through the city to the one place she felt she would be safe. Slowly the cityscape faded the further she drove, the number of other vehicles on the roads thinning out before they ceased altogether, as she found herself pulling into a familiar road that lead to the more private and expensive housing estates on the coast.

Periodically throughout the long drive, Brígh would glance over her shoulder or peer into her mirrors, a certain sense making her feel as if she were still being watched. She was still frightened and not quite sure what to make of everything that happened. Her mind was in chaos, thoughts flitting in and out of her head with the same speed she was driving, which happened to be quiet fast.

As she pulled in front of the outer gates of the family estate, Brígh reluctantly rolled her window down so that she could type in the security code to enter the property, speeding away as it closed automatically behind her. By the time she reached the end of the driveway, her adrenaline had worn off completely and she could only stumble out of the car, her body moving lethargically as she unlocked the front door of her parents' house and slammed it behind her. Brígh backed away from the doorway, accidentally brushing her hip against a small wooden stand that had an old vase sitting upon it, consequently knocking it over.

The noise of it shattering upon the marble floors would have woke the house had her rather loud entry had not already done so, and she screamed out in start as arms went around her body from behind. She struggled within the hold, irrationally fearing that the man may have somehow followed her inside despite having locked the door behind her. It was only the strong and soothing brogue of her father's voice calling her name that made her still within his grasp, and once she had calmed slightly he turned her around in his arms.

Strong and weathered features were set in concern as his hard eyes assessed her condition, the creases in his brows deepening when he took in the split lip and already bruising face. His mouth downturned in a severe scowl, and he pulled her to his chest. She distantly heard him telling her mother to call the police before he bent down slightly and hooked one arm beneath her legs, rising with her in his arms as she buried her face in his neck.

Awareness slowly came back to the young woman minutes later, and she realized she was sitting on a bed gently cradled in her father's arm, while her mother was beside her, stoking her hair. Her sister was pacing beside the bed, alternating between chewing on her perfectly manicured fingernails and running her fingers through her hair. She could hear them talking quietly, trying not to disturb her, and she cast her gaze around her to figure out where she was exactly.

_The panic room_, she realized, all tension leaving her at this revelation because she knew nothing could get inside once the door was locked.

For once the idea that the paranoid Cian Rowan had spent a small fortune to build himself a glorified bomb shelter beneath their house was entirely welcome. It was basically the basement of the rather proportional house, having been modified to accommodate the pricy security system that prevented the door from being opened from the outside once the mechanisms were in place. The walls were made of thick slabs of cement on either side of a solid steel wall, the same treatment given to the floors and ceiling. There were four small bedrooms, a full working kitchen with a fully stocked pantry that could last for at least five years, and a functional bathroom.

"Did anyone think to call Connor?" asked Cadence, and Brígh assumed that one of their parents shook their head because soon soft beeps could be heard as she whipped out her phone and began sending him a quick message. And moments later the sound of music filled the room from her ringtone as he made a reply. "He says he and Jessica will be here in ten minutes."

Never mind that it was a thirty minute drive from their own apartment.

"Good…" their mother, Amelia, said softly.

Her father shifted his hold on her slightly, pulling away enough to see her face. "Brígh," he spoke, the tone harsh but caring as she lifted tearstained eyes to meet his. Her father was a rather serious man, rarely seen without a frown on his face, and it usually reflected in his voice. He was very perceptive and critical, and most people were intimidated by him, though all of his children knew just how loving he was. She and Connor had inherited their hair color from him, and currently his was still tousled with sleep and his face unshaven. "Can you tell me what happened?"

With a shuddering sigh, Brígh answered him with a weak voice. "… Someone broke into my apartment,"

Strong arms tightened around her, the embrace feeling as though it were a shield from the outside world and his chest rumbled with an angry growl, though he was gentle because he had noticed the wince she had from the injuries to her abdomen. Brígh soaked up the warmth of his body gratefully as it was offered. It was comforting, and entirely welcome. Her own body was still throbbing with a dull ache akin to the pins and needles effect, the sensation of excruciating pain she had experienced still making itself known, and her face was still swollen and hurting something terrible.

The mug of tea sat forgotten on the table beside her, no longer hot. Her mother had made it to soothe her nerves, sure that she was in shock. Brígh had no idea what shock felt like. Her face was paler than normal according to her sister, and she felt a bit cold. A warm fleece blanket draped across her shoulders, and the body heat being shared by her father was helping with the coolness.

Connor arrived not too soon after, looking completely disheveled in his sweats and hazardously thrown on boots, his wife by his side in a similar state of worried disarray as they barreled inside. The police as well as an ambulance had pulled up beside his truck as he and Jessica were getting out, so he had lead them through the house while Cadence allowed them all entrance to the basement when she noticed them on one of the security monitors.

With obvious reluctance, Brígh extracted herself from her father's arms, sitting up and shyly tucking her hair behind her ears as the paramedics approached her first, the police opting to first speak with her family to get their own statements. She flinched when the first latex gloved hand touched her face, though thankfully it was not out of fear but out of agonized pain as the tender bruising fiercely protested against the touch.

"Damn," breathed Connor in slight horror as he sat down on the bed beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders more for his sake than her own, as if he was reassuring himself that she was still here, while the paramedic looked her over. "Does it hurt? What am I saying, of course it does," He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his tired and drawn face. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

"… 'm Fine," she told him weakly, her smile more of a grimace as it pulled at the cut on her lip, and he looked about as convinced as she felt.

Having her ribs wrapped tightly was uncomfortable, though preferable to a hospital visit at this hour. The wound where the knife had penetrated her chest was shallow, though painful, and they had to clean it with some kind of antibacterial cream before they taped a piece of gauze over it. She was advised to seek her physician or the emergency room first thing in the morning, and once the paramedic had moved away from her, the police men approached to take her statement.

Brígh stumbled over her worlds frequently as she relived the experience. They looked a bit skeptical as she described what the man had looked like, because it was not very often people walked around with horns and yellow eyes and razor sharp teeth, though Cadence, who had been in many local theater productions throughout high school, defended her description fervently by pointing out the horns were probably prosthetics, the teeth could have been filed to a point, and contact lenses came in many colors, especially in the mid fall.

There were still a few questions she had difficulty explaining.

"_How did he get in?"_

"_Are you sure the door was locked?"_

"_You think he scaled the wall to get through the window?"_

"_And he just fell into this glass wall?"_

Honestly the only explanation she had for him breaking in was the open window, because she knew she had not opened it and the door had been locked when she flung it open to run away. That prospect was somewhat daunting because it meant he had to have been inside her apartment before she had woken up, and she had sat down drawing or at least an hour before he made his presence known.

And… and Brígh had no idea how he had managed to get enough momentum to break the glass. The wall made of a thick and sturdy type of glass, the same thickness as the rest of the walls. She knew that enough force might cause it to shatter as it had, though where that force had come from was still a mystery.

Because she had not pushed him, she had been at his mercy on the floor, and he had suddenly gone flying through the air. She could offer no explanation for it, though thankfully the paramedics seemed to think she had blacked out because she had bruising on eighty percent of her body that she had no recollection of attaining. In fact only the pain that had abruptly surged through her could explain it, and it had only lasted for all of ten seconds before it had stopped, and he had not been touching her at that point. She could not find a way to tell anyone about that without it sounding as crazy as it was.

"One last thing," the officer in charge said, interrupting her thoughts. Brígh nodded silently, pulling the warm blanket around her as she awaited his next question. "You said that there was a knife in your windshield," She nodded again, lifting her head to look at him. "It was still in it when you drove here? It was still there when you got out of the car?"

Brígh frowned, thinking back. "… Yes,"

The two policemen shared a look.

Connor tightened his arm around her. "What?" he snapped at them, his voice rough and angry.

"… the knife is missing."

Brígh stared at him confusion, though her brother looked as if he was readying himself to get up and run out the door, murderous intent in his eyes. "Are you saying," he hissed lowly, his accent thickening with his anger. "That the man who assaulted my sister may have followed her here? That he may be here now?"

Cadence sat down on the other side of Brígh, glaring at their brother. "Shut _up_," she said scathingly, wrapping her own arm around the younger woman, who was now sheet white and shaking at the mere thought that he had followed here. Surely that had been her imagination, the feeling of being watched the entire way here, because she had not seen another vehicle behind her the entire way once she reached this part of the city. Cadence's gray were shot to the policemen, narrowing at them. "And _you. _What are you still doing just standing there? Go—"

"Cadence Eileen," their father interrupted, silencing her with one look. He approached her, settling a heavy hand on her shoulder when it looked as if she may protest. "I apologize for my daughter," he said evenly. "We are all a bit emotional at the moment. Please do whatever you can to catch the assailant," There was a clear dismissal in his voice, and he waited until they accordingly escorted themselves out of his home before he addressed his family. "Connor, lock up the house."

As the younger man moved to obey, Cadence looked at her father. "Are we all sleeping in here tonight, then?" she asked, only to choke as he removed a small handgun from the back of his sleep pants. He gave her a serious look, and she watched in shock as he checked the safety and the clip before he moved to stand in front of the monitors.

The locking mechanism that sealed the panic room was engaged the moment they were all inside, the heavy metal sliding into place with a loud clank with a sort of finality to it. "This door does not open." He gave them each a severe look, making sure they understood the order. Once satisfied he would be obeyed, he nodded sharply, his gaze softening as he looked at his youngest daughter. "Brígh… you will not be going back to your apartment."

Brígh met his eyes, nodding slowly. "… Okay,"

"Connor and I will go gather your things tomorrow," he told her steadily. He briefly touched his hand to the top of each of his childrens heads, and squeezed his wife's shoulder. "For now, everyone get some rest. Extra blankets are in the cupboard," He himself moved stiffly over to an office chair in front of the security monitors, the gun sitting on the table in front of him, eyes glued to the screen unblinkingly.

Brígh accepted the loving embraces from the rest of her family before she settled herself against a pillow, smiling briefly as her siblings climbed on to the bed on either side of her by some kind of unspoken agreement. Their mother and sister-in-law excused themselves to one of the other bedrooms, closing the door behind them so that the glare of the monitors would not disturb her rest. She smiled at Connor and Cadence both haltingly as they each flung an arm over her stomach, drawing her close between them.

Wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, Brígh finally allowed herself to fall asleep in their arms.

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»*********«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

Cadence sneezed as she unpacked the box of bathroom essentials that had been brought over two days ago. Her father and brother had spent the entire morning packing away all of Brígh's personal items the day after the attack, to bring them back to her old suite in the house and since then they had simply say untouched save for a few changes of clothes. She herself had kept her sister company throughout the days, successfully coaxing her out of hiding once their father was positive that the attacker was nowhere on the property.

The young woman had been careful to censor herself the entire time she spent with Brígh, not wanting to bring up the subject of the traumatic event her baby sister had gone through a few nights ago. Cadence had been horrified when she had come down the stairs to find her sister in such a state. It had shaken the entire family, because they had never thought that anything like this could happen to any of them, let alone the youngest.

Brígh was the baby of the family, and they were all protective of her.

Despite being younger, Brígh had always been the one that _she_ relied on when things went wrong. Cadence was very aware that she had a tendency to disappoint her parents. She knew that she could be irresponsible, even whereas her little sister was concerned. She knew she was immature. Brígh was the golden girl of the family, the one who was attending collage while Cadence had been _on break_ to pursue an acting and singing career since graduating high school. It was as if nature screwed up and had switched their roles at birth.

And she knew that some things needed to change.

Cadence had felt helpless the other night. She had not been able to help her sister, and she knew intellectually that it was not her fault, but that didn't stop her from feeling at least somewhat responsible for everything that happened to her baby sister. Brígh had asked her if she would like to live with her a few months ago. Maybe if she had moved in with her sister, she might have been able to prevent the younger woman from going through that.

"So serious…"

Cadence straightened her back, a fine golden eyebrow rising. She smiled at the other girl carefully, eyeing her for any signs that she may seize in a fit of panic. Not that she was expecting that to happen, because out of all of them, Brígh seemed to be getting over all of this the easiest.

"Hello, baby sister," She eyed the redhead speculatively as she sat another box down. "How are you holding up?"

Brígh sighed softly, closing her eyes in exasperation. She had been asked that question more times than she could count, and no matter how much she reassured everyone they kept asking. "How many times do I have to say that I'm fine until you believe it?"

"About five million more," she told her with an easy smile. "Because _fine_ never really means _fine_ does it?"

"It does when I say it."

"You can say it all you like, pumpkin," Cadence told her. "But until you can go outside without getting all jumpy on us, no one will believe it."

"Then _let_ me go outside," Brígh countered just as easily, crossing her arms. "You may have let me out of the basement, but the moment I moved for the door to get some fresh air everyone protested. I have a life, and I refuse to let some psycho scare me into hiding. The police have combed the property several times over, as have Da and Connor, and there is no sign of the creep anywhere. They are doing everything they can to find him. Meanwhile, life does go on…"

"There are still places he could be hiding," she insisted.

Brígh sighed again. "And there are still thousands of more people like him, or even worse than him roaming the streets," she said reasonably. "Yes, he scared me. Yes, he might know where I live. And yes, I'm still a little jumpy and upset. But you guys can't keep me in here. Eventually I will have to leave. I still have classes to attend…"

"Da took care of it," Cadence reminded her. "He called your teachers and said you would be absent."

"My classes are connected to my sanity,"

"Don't be so melodramatic. That's my job." She stared at her sister for a good long moment as Brígh sorted through the box of clothes despondently. The bruise had already begun to fade at a swift rate, the split in her lip already sealed over. Cadence had never had bruises so severe or a split lip, so she had no idea what the recovery time would be on either but two days to heal from such injuries seemed to be nothing short of miraculous.

Perhaps the body was just healing as fast as the other woman's spirit seemed to. Cadence had to concede that she did _seem_ to be okay. She had been acting like her normal self since the morning after the attack. It was everyone else that had been walking on egg shells. Brígh was a very independent young woman, and being cooped up inside of a gilded cage for her own good was sure to slowly drive her mad.

Cadence inwardly winced, knowing that she would probably be acting the same way as her sister had this happened to her instead. The only difference would be that she would have had no problem telling everyone to back off before getting in her car and driving away to go shopping. Brígh was too much of a goody-two-shoes to ever do anything like that, and would allow herself to be bullied into submission to appease everyone else.

"Oh, quit looking so pathetic," she huffed, abandoning her own box as she grabbed her sister by the wrist and forced her to sit down on the chair in front of the vanity.

Brígh eyed her in bewilderment. "What are you doing?"

Scooping up several cosmetic items, Cadence set them all out and glanced at her. "We are leaving," she told her evenly, a happy gleam in her eyes as Brígh lit up at the news. "Though I refuse to go anywhere with you looking like you've gone rounds with a boxer, so hold still…" She selected the concealer, beginning to gently apply it to the nasty bruise covering the side of her little sister's face.

"Where are we going?" the other woman asked after a moment.

Cadence frowned thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she next used foundation. "We can go to that little coffee shop I like, maybe walk around and do some shopping," she decided finally. "Does it really matter, as long as we get out of here for a while?" She nodded in satisfaction when Brígh shook her head earnestly. "We can finish unpacking when we get back…"

Once Cadence was finished applying the makeup, she sent her sister off to go change into something more suitable than plaid pajama bottoms and a ratty old top while she put everything away. She herself had been dressed to perfection in a casual though glamorous sundress, with straps that tied at the base of her neck and a tight fitting bodice that flared out at her hips. Brígh came out a few moments later in a long cream colors skit and matching top, and Cadence sighed at her sister's lack of fashion sense.

"At least wear the lacy camisole I bought you for your birthday," she insisted, retrieving it from the pile of already sorted clothing, scowling when she saw it still had the tags on it. In fact, she realized after a cursory glance, several of the shirts still had tags, the prices obscured by a black permanent marker. "Do you _ever_ wear anything I buy for you?" Cadence was just about to turn around to give her little sister a _look_, one that would say that she was impossible and irritating, only she paused when she saw something peeking out of the pile of shirts.

"Of course I do, Cades."

"What the hell is this?"

Brígh frowned at the incredulous tone, though her confusion turned to brief panic when she recognized the article of clothing that her sister was holding between two fingers, away from her person as if it were poisonous. She recognized it as the rumpled button down shirt she had found in her kitchen sink the day after her birthday.

"It belongs to Alec," she said, hoping the tremor she could hear in her own voice was lost on her sister.

"Nice try, pumpkin," Cadence said with an unladylike snort of disbelief. "Alec has money, and he knows how to spend it wisely. He would _never_ be caught dead in a cheap knockoff like this. What is this, cotton?" She peered at the label of the shirt in distaste. "Alec had better _taste_ than this. And besides," Her nose wrinkled at the smell of the shirt. "This is _not_ the cologne Alec uses."

Brígh bit her lip. "Because it doesn't belong to Alec," she admitted, searching her head for a plausible excuse for why there would be another man in her apartment. She should have said it belonged to Connor. Although that could have been just as damning, considering that the only dress clothes he owned was the suit he had worn to his own wedding last month.

Cadence looked less than impressed with the answer. "And who does it belong to?"

"Okay, you caught me," Brígh said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "We are working on the human figure in my drawing class. One of my classmates agreed to pose for me the other day. It probably belongs to him, if you're so sure it isn't Alec's."

A skeptical eyebrow rose. "… He left without his shirt?"

Brígh shrugged helplessly, her face the picture of innocence. "He had a sweat shirt. I'll have to remember to bring it to him next Tuesday," She took the shirt from her sister, folding it precariously and placing it on her drafting table with the art supplies she took with her to class just to make it more believable. She heard Cadence make a sound of disbelief, though thankfully deciding to drop the subject, and she released a haggard breath.

The last thing Brígh wanted was to tell anyone else what had happened. Cadence would blow it completely out of proportion, and she would blame herself because she had taken Brígh to the club that night and had left her there. Her guilt would cause her to attach herself to her sister, and it would suffocate Brígh. Eventually she would end up blabbing to their parents, and who knew what would happen should their father find out.

No, she just wanted to put it behind her.

Brígh was already hitting herself, not even sure what had made her keep the shirt rather than throw it out with the trash. It was probably a strange thing to do, to keep the shirt that belonged to a man she couldn't even remember. Alec would probably be upset should he discover that she was keeping it, because she was apparently clinging to the only tangible thing left of that night.

Cadence's voice cut through her thoughts. "Are you ready?"

Brígh smiled at her weakly as she grabbed the forgotten camisole and changed quickly, if only to appease the older woman, and she and her sister walked side by side throughout the house. They were careful to avoid being seen by anyone other than their mother, who only requested that they return within a few hours so that the men would not go insane trying to find them. Soon both girls were on their way to the into the city, Cadence was pleased to see a genuine smile on her sister's face for the first time in days as the younger woman basked in the sunlight and soft breeze.

Today was going to be a great day. Brígh knew that with a strange certainty that she desperately tried not to linger on for too long. She had been having a lot of these feelings the past few days. Even before the psychotic man had broken in to her apartment—that day she had known that something was just… _off_. She had been anxious that entire day, and it had not just been the dream that had caused her sudden burst of insomnia that night.

Every day the feelings got stronger, though they could not be called _feelings_ exactly because it was… more than that. It was a sense of _knowing._ The morning after the attack she had woken up seconds before she received a frantic phone call from Alec, who had regrettably been informed of the attack and had been panic stricken and furious by what had happened. Yesterday she had flinched in anticipation _before_ her mother accidentally dropped a box containing the dinnerware from her apartment. Earlier this very day she had caught hold of Connor by the wrist and tugged him safely away from the staircase, knowing with absolute certainty that had she not, he would have tripped and broken his arm in three places.

And Brígh was having difficulty finding an explanation for it all, especially when coupled with how she managed to get away that night. She had not pushed him, had not hit him… there wasn't even then slightest possibility that she had enough strength to send him flying through the air with enough force to bring down a wall, even if it was made of glass. Was there even a plausible explanation? Or… was something else happening?

It was actually a blessing that Brígh had been barred from leaving the house these past few days. Not that she enjoyed being cooped up, but it had given her the opportunity to go through the events of that night over and over again in her mind. Replaying it and analyzing everything little detail she could remember…

No one would believe what had really happened that night.

The young woman wasn't even sure if _she_ believed what happened. She could not find a way to explain any of it, unless she was suffering from stress and an over active imagination. And that was entirely possible. She could have hallucinated it all, when in reality she really had pushed him hard enough to send him through a wall. There were cases of mothers lifting cars off of their children because of freak adrenaline rushes… right? The only thing that caused her to doubt this theory was the fact that she had _not_ pushed him— his body had simply soared through the air.

Brígh glanced at her sister, who remained oblivious as she sang along to a song blaring through the speakers of her car. She would put it all out of her mind for now, because today was a great day and she would surely ruin it if she thought on this topic for much longer. The young woman signed inwardly and turned away again, resting her chin upon her forearm while watching the scenery pass by through the open window.

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»****End****«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»****Chapter****«·´¯·.¸**

Had trouble sleeping last night, so it was my sudden insomnia that allowed me to work on this**. **And I am having fun writing this story, because the tone of it is just so much different than what I have been writing recently, so I do think I will continue to update it regularly after all though _Finding Yourself _is still going to be my first priority. I'm not sure if I will be able to post every week like I try to with my other story though.

Lynx


	8. The Park

**¸.·´¯·»****Chapter Seven****«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»**_The Park_**«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

Christopher Halliwell had always enjoyed coming to the park.

It was one of his favorite places in the city, and if he could not be found at home or at work, this was where his entire family knew to find him. He had not been able to come here for weeks, unfortunately, though he had found time this previous week under the pretense of doing homework, which he was also accomplishing as he enjoyed his day. He loved the soft breeze that drifted from the bay, the plants and trees that grew in the miniature gardens. It was a lovely day outside, with the sun hanging high in the clear blue sky above him as he walked through the grassy fields.

There were not very many people out today unfortunately. He had been hoping for a slightly larger crowd, though he supposed this would have to do. He had already taken several photographs this week, today especially despite the very few people. He had managed to ask an older couple, who had been taking a leisurely stroll through the gardens hand in hand, if he could take their picture, and they had agreed with kind smiles. He got several images of them, enraptured by the way they looked at each other with utter adoration.

It reminded him of his own parents.

Other photographs were of the landscape, or the birds or the beautiful water fountains. Not every image he took would be for his assignment, though at least he was enjoying himself. He needed a bit of relaxation after the last few weeks. Business at the club he and his brother owned together had been picking up this past year due to the renovations and the changes they had made once their mother had finally decided it was time to pursue her own restaurant as she had always dreamed and had signed it over to them, and the stress was slowly getting to him.

Booking local bands as well as a few of the more popular and well known singers had become a struggle recently, and inventory was always so hard to keep track of, though he was pleased with how he was handling running his own business. And their patrons really did seem to enjoy the changes they had made to the club, so he figured they must have been doing something right. Though still, working as hard as he has been while simultaneously attending his classes at the university, left him very little time to do what he _enjoyed_ doing.

Eventually he found himself sitting upon one of the benches, simply watching as people played with their canine companions, or jogged by on the cement paths, snapping off one or two pictures every once in a while. He did prefer to ask permission first, though sometimes when he did he ended up with images of ridiculous poses with crossed eyes and tongues lolling out to give a glimpse of the person's tonsils. He thought his pictures were better when people had no idea they were being photographed, when they were acting natural and caught unawares, even if that did make him seem like a bit of a creep.

It was within one of these unaware shots that he first managed to see _them_.

Chris had been focusing on a mother and child near the park entrance where there were a few swings and slides, and they had walked through the large open gates arm in arm, laughing and smiling as they entered the park just behind the woman. They were in the shot as he looked at the display screen of his camera, and he smiled as he heard their laughter reach him from his bench.

Sea green eyes were drawn to the two women, one with dark red hair and the other with an almost platinum blond color. He could see easily that they were gorgeous, the wide smiles stretching across their faces only adding to their beauty. He swallowed slightly as he observed them, feeling guilty for watching them like this, and his eyes strayed to the blond.

Standing slowly, he zoomed in on their faces, capturing a wonderful shot as the two women gazed at each other with obvious mirth, their smiles infectious as he refocused and snapped another. He watched the blond woman carefully as she gazed around the park, a long, graceful finger aiming discretely at the men surrounding them. She was… unlike any other woman he had seen today and he was having difficulty figuring out if that was a good thing or not.

Long, thick eyelashes caked with mascara outlined her gray eyes, the dark makeup only adding to a smoky shadow effect on her eyelids. Her skin was bronzed and glowing in a way that proved it was not a natural gift of the sun. Her hair was blond, though a bit _too_ blond to have been the real color, and she was so thin that he felt that she may have blown away if there had been a stronger breeze today.

And yet… her emotions were so genuine.

Chris felt himself being drawn to her if only for how content she was to be with her… _sister_, if what he felt emanating from both of them was correct. For all he knew they could have just been friends who felt about each other the same way he and his brother did. _Companionship_, _love_, _loyalty_ and _protectiveness_, so many emotions all wrapped up in a nice little blond package. He was certain they were related anyway, considering how alike they looked. The other woman, the one with the dark red hair, felt the same though it was still the blond that caught his eye.

Perhaps Wyatt was right and he needed to find someone, if only so that he did not feel so alone anymore. He was surrounded by love of all kinds every day, and he felt as if he was the only one without a special someone. His powers allowed him to actually _feel_ the deep connection his parents shared as if it were his own emotions, he had been the first to feel the developing attraction between his closest cousin and a good friend of his, he could even feel the stirrings of a crush his little sister had for a boy in one of her classes.

Not to say that this would be the woman he would develop his own feelings for. He did find her attractive, despite the layers of cosmetics that would have normally turned him away, because beneath that he could feel what a genuinely compassionate woman she truly was. But his conversation earlier in the week with his brother still stood—if he was to ever get involved with someone, he would eventually end up lying to them periodically throughout the relationship to keep the family secret.

It did not escape him that he was not the only one the woman managed to ensnare with her beauty, and he watched as a man approached her. He felt an odd pang of disappointment as he watched her smile coyly at the man, twisting her hair around a finger, while her redheaded companion merely looked on with a raised eyebrow at the display, seemingly used to this kind of behavior from her sister.

Deciding it was best to move on, he scanned the park for someone else to immortalize with a photograph. He was able to keep himself occupied as he moved around, and he hoped that his teacher would at least appreciate the effort he was putting forth for this class, if not for the material itself. He could understand if she gave him a poor grade had he not at least tried to capture someone other than just his cousins and his sister, though these shots would be proof that he had actually gone out to pursue different subjects.

Nearly thirty minutes passed by, and overhead clouds had begun to roll in. Light peeked through the heavens making wonderful effects as shadow and light warred upon the ground. Chris was preparing to pack up his equipment and head home so he would be on time to aid their mother with preparing for a welcoming feast they would be having tomorrow afternoon for a cousin of his who had been away on a trip for the last few weeks, only he paused as his eyes caught a flash of gold reflecting in the sunlight.

It was the blond woman from earlier, and she was spinning in place with her arms outstretched as she lifted her face to the sun while the rest of her was hidden by the shadows of the clouds. It was childish and obviously fun…it was… a breathtaking sight. He found that he could not resist taking at least a few more shots, especially when this woman was being so unguarded. It was as if she was dancing some sacred dance that he was intruding upon.

The young man nearly dropped the device when he realized that he could see a pair of gray eyes staring at him through the lens, and he froze as he realized he had been caught. He groaned inwardly and hurried to place the camera back in the carrying case, hiding a wince when he noticed her determined approach out of the corner of his eye. She came to a stop directly in front of him, one hand resting on her hip as she stared at him coolly.

"Are you some kind of pervert?"

Chris balked at the brusque question, feeling his jaw drop slightly as he tried to form a coherent response. He was sure he looked petrified to her. He had been asked similar questions all week long, when people had noticed him taking pictures of random strangers, though never had it been asked quite so bluntly. It took him off guard, and ran a hand over his head and tugged the strap of his camera bag a little higher nervously.

"N-no," he stammered, cursing himself. "I… I wanted you. No!" His face was horrified as he heard the words escape his mouth, cringing with embarrassment as he hastened to explain. "That came out wrong! Your _picture_, I wanted your picture," He closed his eyes in a grimace, lowering his head and wishing he could freeze time so he could run away and have his brother take his place to smooth this over. He peeked up at her sheepishly, biting his lip at the way her eyebrows had attempted to reach her hairline through his fumbled speech. "Sorry. I can delete them,"

"… Let me see."

Hands shaking slightly at the even demand, Chris retrieved his camera from the safety of its bag, her narrowed eyes making him sure that the moment he handed it to her it would end up smashed upon the cement in a righteous fit of anger. He watched her face as she scrolled through each photograph he had taken, her heavily darkened eyes inscrutable and not revealing her reaction, and he was too nervous to even try to read her emotions on the matter, keeping his abilities tightly reigned in.

A few minutes later the young woman had gone through every single picture he had taken that day, looping around until she had reached the one of her spinning in the sun. She looked up at him through her thick lashes, silently passing the camera back to him without any damage, and he quietly put it away as he awaited her judgment.

"My name is Cadence,"

"… Christopher," he said, only to clear his throat with a nervous twitch. He hated it when people used his full name. Only his brother and his mother used it, and even then it was only when they were cross with him or annoyed over something. "Chris."

Nodding to herself, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, _Christopher_," she began, her tone still unrevealing of anything. "It is not very polite to take pictures of someone without their permission." She stared at him steadily while his palms began to sweat. He shifted his weight uneasily under her steady gaze, slowly feeling the tenseness begin to ebb away when a small smile settled on her painted lips. "… although those were very good."

Releasing a nervous laugh, he smiled meekly. "So… not going to report me as a pervert?"

Cadence smiled back, her eyes shining with amusement. "Not today, but only because you caught my good side," she said seriously, turning her face slightly in a teasing gesture as if to show him which side was her good side. "… Are you a professional photographer?"

"I wish," he told her. "Just a student,"

"Never would have guessed," Cadence replied, and he felt himself flush slightly under the compliment. "My sister took a photography class a while back," She leaned in closer, as if sharing a secret with him. "They were _terrible_. Hideous even, and she is an art major! Yours are considerably better."

Chris smiled. "You are probably just exaggerating."

"Maybe just a little," she winked, giving him a considering look. "Are you doing anything tonight?"

For a moment, Chris thought he may have heard wrong. He stared at her uncomprehendingly as his throat bobbed with a nervous swallow. He had to have just misunderstood her, because there was no way that she was asking him for the reason he thought she was. She probably just wanted a copy of the pictures for herself. Sometimes people did after he showed images to them.

"Why," he asked before he could stop himself, and her eyebrows pinched together as if she could not believe that he even had to ask that question. But he did, he really did. Beautiful girls like this were not attracted to him, they were attracted to his brother, and would never just ask him out so randomly.

Cadence allowed her eyes to sweep over his body in a very telling way, beginning from his scruffy sneakers and his dark jeans to the plain tee shirt and the appreciative gleam was like a blow to the stomach when she finally reached his face. He could not resist lowering his defensive slightly—just to make sure he was reading the situation correctly. He closed his eyes briefly as _curiosity, amusement_, and _lust_ washed over him.

Chris had no idea why she was so curious with him, though he could understand the amusement. She found his nervousness endearing and a bit humorous, though not in a way that he felt he should be wary of. She would not make fun of him for it or use it against him. She was just genuinely amused. And the _lust_… he released a deep breath at the feel of her attraction. She really did have a genuine interest in him and it left him rather cowed.

"I…" He choked on his own saliva. "I… was planning on… spending the evening with… my brother!" He cursed himself a moment later for being such a coward, making up an excuse just to avoid going on an actual date. And with such a lame excuse! Who would rather spend an evening with their _brother_ rather than this gorgeous young woman in front of him, and really, he did have a valid excuse. He would be helping his mother tonight, to prepare for a welcoming home party which would take place tomorrow after they picked his cousin up from the airport.

It was done now, however. He could not take it back even if he tried.

A slow, predatory smile stretched across her face, and she suddenly took a step closer, so close that he could smell the scent of her subtle perfume, unconsciously inhaling deeper at the pleasant fragrance as she ran a finger down the center of his chest. His heart was racing as he felt her press against him, and he was sure she could feel the rapid tempo. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, feeling a shudder surge through his body as she gripped the back of his neck with her other hand to pull him down to her level.

"Then it is settled." she told him as he squirmed beneath her touch. "It's a date."

Chris blinked in shock. "What?"

"Tonight…" she continued. "We will meet at the on the boardwalk, where they just built that knew pier."

"… What?"

Cadence grinned at him. "You bring your brother, and I will bring my sister." And then she stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her glossy lips against his cheek, as if he had not been in enough turmoil with her pressed against the length of his body. "See you at seven," she whispered seductively, his eyes fluttering closed against his will as her lips grazed the shell of his ear. And suddenly she was gone, walking away from him with an extra swing to her hips that caused several eyes to follow the motion as her white dress swayed.

Chris stared after her in bewilderment, a hand rising to press against his forehead as he greedily filled his lungs. He watched as she walked back to her sister, giggling as she hooked their arms together and began walking away. By the way they glanced over their shoulders at him as they exited the park, it did not take much to guess what they were discussing. He walked away in a slight daze, waiting until he reached a secluded area vacant of people and he transported himself home in a flurry of lights.

With a careless shrug he divested himself of his camera bag and threw himself into a chair before he collapsed, once again going through the conversation in his mind. He had a date… had he even agreed to go? He was a bit lost on what had just happened. It had been less of a request and more of a statement that they would meet, and he had no idea what to make of it.

He had half a mind to call this girl up and tell her that he would not be able to make their so called _date_… only… he had no idea what her number was or her surname should he even attempt to search for her in a directory. She may not even be listed in the phone books. Who knew how many women with the first name of _Cadence_ even lived in the bay area, if that was even her real name. Chris shook his head. Who would have known that such a petite blond could ever be so… _aggressive._ He flushed when he realized he had kind of liked it.

"Chris?"

It was his brother that drew him back into reality. He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

Wyatt gave him a cautious look. "Are you alright?"

"I have no idea…"

In hindsight, he should have chosen to respond differently because immediately the older man was crouching in front of him, face full of concern as he scanned his brother for any sign of injuries. "Were you attacked," he demanded, only to curse when he only got a noncommittal sound in return. He attempted to lift the baggy shirt up for a further inspection, though the Chris managed to squirm out of his hold, used to the overprotective nature.

"… I have no idea what happened." Chris gently pushed his older brother away with a helpless look. "Not a really an attack… or at least, not _that_ kind of attack…"

Wyatt frowned in warning. "Christopher,"

"I was taking her picture," he explained in puzzlement, while his brother listened patiently so he would know exactly who to summon and destroy if they had done anything to his little brother. "She saw me, and before I could get away she was standing right in front of me and calling me a pervert."

Wyatt could only stare at him, his lips twitching with the need to smile as he began to understand just what had happened. _So that's how it is…_ His brother had not been assaulted or hunted down by any sort of malevolent creature of the night. He had been accosted by a woman. He sat back on his heels, keeping his silence as he let the younger man continue on with his tale.

"She demanded to see them," Chris said. "So I handed over my camera… and then… she asked me out… or told me we were going out… and then she kissed me. Only on the cheek, though, and she walked away. "

Clearing his throat, a wide smile on his face, Wyatt slapped the younger man on the shoulder lightly. "Nice to see you are finally taking my advice and focusing on a nice girl of your own…" He chuckled at the pitiful confusion etched on his brother's face. "So when is the big day?"

"… Tonight, the pier at seven…" Chris released a haggard breath. "And that is all you have to say?"

"Have fun?" he offered.

Chris glared at him. He sudden paled as he recalled one last piece of information. He stood slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he pushed past Wyatt just to postpone telling him that he would be going on this date too. Wyatt was going to be so incredibly pissed. Chris was inwardly cursing himself for using the man as an excuse, especially since this was the result. His brother had just gotten out of a long term relationship that had _not_ part parted amicably and not to mention the fact that he was secretly—and Chris used that term loosely because it was just _so_ obvious—pining for someone else.

This was a recipe for a disaster…

Chris cringed with anticipated embarrassment as he brother appeared behind him as he entered the kitchen, saying that he had an announcement to make and they would never guess what it was. "Wyatt, keep your voice down," their mother told him sternly, though she gave them both an affectionate smile as she washed vegetables for the dinner she was cooking tonight. "Now what is it you wanted me to guess?"

"Yes, oh tall, dark and moody," Melinda added from her stool at the counter, idly flipping through a magazine. "We are all on the edge of our seats…"

"Smart ass," he snorted, smiling pleasantly at his mother when she gave him a look. "Chris has a date."

Piper paused in her task, turning to scrutinize her youngest son. "How well do you know her?" she asked, setting the vegetables out on a chopping board and selecting a knife. He shrugged in response and she narrowed her eyes at him for it. "What if she is a demon," she said reasonably, shaking the knife at him.

Chris eyes the sharp object and took a subtle step back. His mother with a pointy object was a dangerous combination, though really, she was always dangerous with the way she could demolish the house with the slightest outburst of anger. He glared at his brother for bringing this to her attention, and the older man had the audacity to send him a positively _gleeful _grin at him in success.

"Who is a demon?" asked another woman, and Paige suddenly entered the kitchen through the conservatory door, a small wrapped box and a bag of groceries in her hand, which she immediately pawned off to an unsuspecting Wyatt when he turned to greet her. "Put those away for me, would you?" She turned without waiting for a response, only to stare at her sister with wary eyes. "Piper," she drawled. "Are you trying to kill my neurotic nephew?"

Lowering the knife, the older woman frowned at her. "No, I am not going to impale my son if that's what you're thinking, missy," she sighed, turning to the clean vegetables and beginning her assault. "Did he tell you that he has a date? Because I had to find out from Wyatt just now, and I had no idea he even liked anyone…"

Chris opened his mouth to protest, because he did not like anyone and therefore had not been keeping it from her, though he was interrupted when Paige looked over at him with a grin. "Who is she?" she interrogated. "What is her name? What does she look like?"

There was something to be said about the way all four of them zeroed eagerly on to the poor young man with eyes akin to a shark who smelled blood. Chris was thinking something along the lines of_ they needed their own lives!_ He was still trying to get over the shock that he would be going on a date that he still had no idea if he agreed to or not because he had been so discombobulated at the time. He should not have to go into details about it.

"Whoa," Phoebe interrupted as she entered the room next, her eyes widening as she gave them all a brief glance before finally settling on her nephew. It made no difference that he was attempting to hide his emotions from her, she had been an empath for much longer than he had and she could easily slip passed his defenses to sense the embarrassment he was feeling. "Someone is very anxious," she said in amusement.

Poor little Christopher looked mortified. "I'll just wait in my room," he said, disappearing out the door and up the stairs before anyone could stop him. He may as well go take a shower, because there was no way he would be staying here tonight if they were just going to interrogate him.

Sharing a look amongst his aunts, Wyatt laughed at the retreat.

Piper was not amused, however, and set her knife down on the cutting board forcefully, throwing her hands up in exasperation while she gave them each a dark look. "Am I the only one who is taking this seriously?" she demanded of her children and her sisters. Judging by their sheepish expressions, she figured that she was, in fact, the only one who wanted to know if this girl was a threat.

Instead of commenting, she simply shook her head and emptied some of the chopped vegetables into a skillet already on the stove to let them simmer for a bit before she would add them to her soup. She continued cooking while listening to the menial chatter around her, and after nearly ten minutes of listening to her younger sister gush about how she could not wait for her family to return, she was pulling a pan of freshly baked cookies out of the oven.

"Mmm," Wyatt grinned, licking his lips as the aroma reached him. He peered over her shoulder down to the pan and inhaled deeply. "Lemon cookies?" He drew his face into a puppyish pout, silently begging for one before dinner, though he could not quite pull it off as his brother could, and his mother narrowed her eyes at him.

"Don't even think about it, mister," she said firmly, nodding in satisfaction as he pulled away and sat down to sulk beside his sister. The moment she had her back turned, the sound of wind chimes filled the room, alerting her to the fact that her son had just deliberately disobeyed her. Turning around and placing her hands on her hips menacingly, Piper scowled at him. "Wyatt Matthew Halliwell!"

Wyatt stared at her with wide, innocent eyes, showing her his empty hands. "What?"

Piper frowned deeply at him, assessing his honesty, and suddenly whipped around to find her youngest sister attempting to look blameless even with the crumbs gathering at the corner of her mouth, and the way her jaw was working to devour the cookie before she could be caught. Needless to say, she was caught red handed.

"Sowwy, Pippar," she said around her food.

"Ew," said Phoebe, scrunching up her nose in distaste at her sister. "That is disgusting, Paige." She waited a beat before asking, "So Chris has a date?" She released a squeal as she received a nod in answer. "Oh, thank God! You know it is one thing to _know_ that your nephew is sexually repressed, but it is another thing entirely to_ feel_ his sexual frustration. Finally," she said with relief. Piper and Paige were aghast by her casual comment, Melinda shuddered at the thought, and Wyatt merely grinned.

"Subject change," the oldest sister pleaded, not wanting to discuss her son's _frustration_ or the fact that his aunt was apparently being affected by it. That was a taboo subject. It was bad enough for her to know that her sons were adults and of age to do whatever they pleased, she did not want to know any details. "Are you excited?" she asked the shorthaired woman.

Phoebe had a face splintering smile as she nodded. "My little girl and my hubby are coming back, of course I am excited!" she replied enthusiastically. "I mean, I know that she was only gone for two weeks but that was two weeks too long. And even though she has been with her daddy this whole time," She shrugged helplessly. "I just can't wait until they are both in my arms…"

"What time does their flight get in?" Paige asked her curiously.

Phoebe sighed sadly. "Not until noon,"

Ten minutes later had Piper storing a bowl of marinating meat for skewers tomorrow in the refrigerator, grumbling because her little helper had fled the scene. The rest of the chopped vegetables were placed in tupperware and the sauces she made had been cooled and had joined the rest of the food in preparation for the barbeque tomorrow afternoon. She washed her hands when she was finished, drying them off with a hand towel as she gazed toward the ceiling as if she could see the floor above.

"Chris!" she shouted up to him.

It took a few moments before there was any sign that he had even heard her, and soon he stumbled down the stairs, his short cropped hair damp as he finished buttoning his clean and pressed shirt.

Piper observed the change in his wardrobe with critical eyes, taking in the clean slacks and the faint scent of cologne. He always dressed presentably, though he tended to go with functionality and comfort rather than dressy. "What is with the outfit?"

The young man had the grace to look somewhat self-conscious with her intent scrutiny, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in his shirt as he mumbled out an inaudible reply. He scuffed his bare feet on the floor, his hand running over his head in a nervous habit as he looked longing at the stairs, as if he was just waiting for the moment when he could retreat.

Paige gave her youngest nephew a sly grin. "Got a hot date tonight?"

If his cheeks had not been rose before her question, they certainly were now. She knew very well that he did, in fact, have a date, and she snickered with glee as he scowled at her for daring to tease him.

"The date is _tonight_?" asked Piper, looking aghast.

Chris sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "It's not that big of a deal," he tried to tell them, though even as he spoke he knew it was hopeless. His track record with women as well as his stance of dating was sure to have them believing that he would end up to be a miserable old man who would be alone for the rest of his life… or rather, he knew that was what his sister maintained.

"Sorry kiddo," Paige grinned at him. "But it kind of is."

"Fine," he sighed again, shaking his head. "If you will excuse me, I have to finish getting ready," He gave his bare feet a pointed glance, turning on his heel in a purposeful march out of the kitchen. He came to a sudden stop as he caught sight of his brother, who seemed to take far too much amusement from this situation. Damn. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, reluctantly turning to face the older man. "… Wyatt?"

"Yes, Christopher," he drawled suspiciously at the nervous tone.

Chris licked his lips, searching for a way to word this properly. "This girl…"

"Your date?" he supplied, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

With an anxious chuckle, Chris nodded and shifted from foot to foot. "You know how she… kind of cornered me earlier, right?" The older man narrowed his eyes even more, whilst the rest of the family watched on in interest as the display, eagerly listening to the conversation. "She surprised me, and I… I kind of panicked earlier. Because she surprised me…" He winced, realizing that he was repeating his words, and if his brother hadn't realized that something odd was up before, he certainly did now.

"The point," Wyatt bit out with some apprehension. "Get to the point, Christopher,"

"… I told her I was spending the evening with my brother," Chris admitted fretfully, watching the growing comprehension beginning to blossom on his brother's face before. "And then she said that it was a date, and that we were going to meet at the pier… and that she would bring her sister and I would bring you," He stared over at his brother with his pathetic puppy eyes staring dolefully at the other man as he awaited his judgment.

"… You idiot," Wyatt said as his head dropped onto the countertop with a loud thud, turning his head to scowl at his aunts and his sister as they tried, quite unsuccessfully he would add, to stifle their laughter at his predicament. This date was turning out to be less amusing than he had first thought. He slowly lifted his head, catching sight of the way his mother's lips pursed with worry.

"Wyatt, please…" Christopher pleaded with him. "She was kind of… _scary_,"

Melinda snickered. "Scary?"

"Intimidating," he corrected, cheeks stained scarlet.

Never before had he been so hard pressed to control himself not to burst out laughing, and it took all of Wyatt's considerable self-control to keep his face carefully blank as he considered the situation. His brother was strong, and resilient, and he had faced horrors that no child should ever have to face since the moment he entered this world and took his first breath. They had both stood against dark forces intent of seeing the enslavement or extinction of the human race, faced vile creature attempting to destroy them and their family countless times.

Wyatt never thought he would see the day where his brother would afraid of anything, especially not a young woman who had bullied him into taking her out on a date. He knew that his brother was not _truly_ scared of this girl, perhaps a bit intimidated and unsure how to react to her forcefulness, though not afraid of her. And he needed someone to stand beside him, to help him keep his head so that he didn't accidently make a fool out of himself.

"… Is her sister pretty?" he finally asked, resignation written all over his face.

"Please, I promise I will make you breakfast for a month—wait," Chris blinked in astonishment, cutting himself off as the words registered. He balked at the other man, who was casually reclining in his seat, his eyebrows aloft as he allowed Chris to process his words. "Does that mean…?" He could only stare as he received a silent nod. "You'll do it? You'll come with me, just like that?"

"Oh, I fully intend for you to keep that promise," Wyatt said with a reluctant smirk. "The prospect of homemade waffles and eggs every morning for an entire month sounds like a rather good trade for one evening spent keeping you from scaring this girl away with your nervous ramblings," He chuckled at the profoundly astounded look on his brother's face. If anything, he would at least have fun humiliating his little brother with relentless teasing. "And you didn't answer my question. Is she pretty?"

Chris nodded absently, still a bit dazed that his brother had agreed even with everything that he has been going through lately. "Yeah, she was very pretty. She was a bit further away, but she had dark red hair and pale skin, and she looked a lot like Cadence, her sister, who is… very, _very_ pretty,"

Everyone watched with concern as Wyatt seemed to choke on air, coughing several times as he heard the brief description. _No_, he thought with a mental shake of his head. _Hopeful thinking, it can't possibly be her…_ _could it?_ It had to be a coincidence, just an odd twist of fate that his little brother had a date with a woman named Cadence who had a sister with pale skin and red hair. Just a fluke that reminded him of his bothersome obsession with the poor girl he had nearly jumped in a crowded restaurant, because he could recall that she too had a sister who shared the same name as his brother's date.

"I took a picture of her too, actually," Chris was still saying, and before he could say another word he watched as his camera bag suddenly materialized in front of the older man with a sudden burst of blue and white lights so abrupt they appeared to burst apart, the soft jiggling still lingering in the air as he eagerly searched the bag for the device. "Careful," Chris warned as he watched his brother practically manhandle his very _expensive_ camera equipment as he scrolled through all of the photographs with a very peculiar determination.

Wyatt felt his breath catch in his throat once more as he finally settled on the images his brother had taken, dismissing the ones of the blond woman immediately though staring with awe at the woman beside her. It was no coincidence, not just a simple twist of fate after all. Wyatt stood abruptly, looking down at himself with a frown as he realized just how unkempt he looked at the moment.

It had been a long week, what with him hunting down every one of his relatives to apologize to them for his deplorable behavior, and having to work both the shifts he was covering at the restaurant and his own hours at the club every evening. He had been too exhausted today once he finished his shifts, coming home to crash on the couch for a few hours still dressed in his uniform. He had not had time to shower for at least two days, and his hair was a mess from his impromptu nap earlier that day.

With a noise of dismay, he himself suddenly broke apart into millions of little orbs as he retreated downstairs to his bedroom to make himself more presentable. It was only five at the moment, which meant he had plenty of time to get ready, though he would not be taking any chances. He had been trying to come up with an excuse to speak with her again for the past week though he always found an excuse not to, and now one had fallen directly into his lap.

He couldn't have been more pleased with this outcome.

Chris lunged for the forgotten camera as it was left behind by his brother as he orbed away, his fingers barely grasping hold of it before it had a chance to meet the unforgiving linoleum tiles of the kitchen. He released an angry breath at the fact that his brother had treated his property with such disregard, hastening to tuck it away back within the soft walls of the case.

"What was that all about?" Melinda asked in bewilderment.

Phoebe squinted a bit. "I have no idea," she said. "But he was very happy about something."

"He was happy that he is being coerced into a double date?" Piper questioned dubiously.

Chris could only shrug, a bit confused by what was going on himself. "Beats me,"

Phoebe suddenly rounded on him, her face wide with a smile. "Enough about Wyatt," she said pleasantly, giving his cheek a small pinch. "I have some advice for you," She looked him over carefully, shaking her head. "You look very handsome, certainly, though like you are going to church, sweetie." He looked down at his apparel with a winch, realizing just how right she was. "You mentioned the pier?"

"Yeah,"

"Hmm," she mused thoughtfully, pausing for just a moment before she snapped her fingers as if she had just solved a difficult puzzle. "Loose the slacks, sweetie, they are much too formal for the occasion. If she wanted fancy, she would have chosen to meet elsewhere. Go for that nice pair of dark jeans you have, _not_ the light blue ones with the paint stains. Keep the shirt, it looks very nice on you and the green brings out your eyes wonderfully, though…" She sighed regrettably, gesturing to his waistline where his shirt had been carefully tucked away. "Try to be more casual. Don't tuck in it…"

Chris nodded seriously because he was getting free advice from a woman who had once been San Francisco's most successful advice columnist before she had ended up taking over as the chief editor of that particular newspaper. He would be crazy not to do as she said, so he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek in gratitude and rushed upstairs so he could change his pants and put on some shoes.

Piper watched her son disappear with a sigh. "You two staying for dinner," she asked her sisters hopefully, figuring that they could stay up late and watch some sappy movies as they waited for her sons return later. After a length of time, Piper asked the question that had been burning in the back of her mind throughout the entire conversation, unable to resist any longer. "Are we sure this Cadence girl and her sister aren't demons? He admitted she scared him,"

"Piper." Phoebe said warningly.

"… Maybe we should check the _Book of Shadows_,"

Paige sighed in exasperation. "Piper."

"I mean, she could be a _succubus_," the older woman said worriedly. "You know how dangerous those things are."

The other two shared a look, expelling a breath as they shouted, "_Piper!_"

"What? It could happen!"

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»*********«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸**

Connor Rowan had been beside himself with worry since the moment he had arrived at the family estate. His mother had gently informed him that his twin had taken their younger sister out for the day, and then she had proceeded to scold him with all the viciousness of a mother lion when he demanded to know where they had gone, leaving him sufficiently browbeaten by her adamancy that Brígh needed to get out of the house and walk around for a while, if only to get her mind off of things.

If there was one thing to be said about Amelia Rowan, she was a very formidable woman and she could outsmart any politician into committing career suicide by causing them to reveal every dark deed they have ever committed if she had the inclination. It was probably one of the reasons their father was still so in love with her even after all of this time, because he had someone to argue endlessly with that could actually have him in a proverbial noose by the end of the squabble.

There was nothing Connor could do to convince her that they needed to keep Brígh safe within the walls of the house, where they could protect her should someone wish her harm. Once Amelia had her mind made up, her resolve was unshakable by anything short of death. Therefore Connor sulked as she had elegantly walked away with all the grace and poise of a noble queen, standing in the entryway of the house with his shoulders slumped.

The man vowed to strangle his twin when they returned, sure that this was somehow her doing.

Brígh would never leave him to worry after like this if Cadence had not been involved. The girls were lucky that it was him who had discovered their absence and not their father, because he had made it absolutely clear that Brígh would be under house arrest until the culprit who attacked her in her own apartment was behind bars and far away from her. A fact she had been none too pleased with for sure, though nonetheless acquiescent to the demand... or so they had thought.

Connor stalked out the front door with an angry jilt to his stride the moment he caught sight of the ridiculously expensive, cheery red convertible his sister had purchased begin to pull into the courtyard. The car went in a full circle through the roundabout created by the large fountains, and for a brief moment he feared that she may have saw his approach and meant to drive away once more. But no, the car stalled as she killed the engine, the door opening with a careless swing as she stepped out in her high heels.

"Connor, darling," she greeted with a pucker of her glossy lips, blowing an air kiss at him. "What are you doing here on this fine day?"

Cadence seemed to be far too pleased with herself for his liking, and he spared her a sharp glare that was completely ineffective on her after twenty four years of putting up with his overprotective tendencies, and he strode over to the passenger side of the car, offering his hand to his youngest sister.

It was all he could do to stamp down the instinctual urge to search her over for any damage. He felt as if he had loaned his twin his favorite toy and feared to find it in pieces when she returned it, though he would never say that out loud lest he want to cause Brígh to become angry with him for the comparison. He felt himself calm, all of the scenarios that he had been imagining for the past three hours fading from his mind as she embraced him.

"Quit being so overprotective," she whispered to him, no bite to her words, just as kind smile on her face. "We went to a coffee shop, and then walked among the boutiques for a while before we decided to have lunch in the park. Nothing bad happened, and we came back in one piece…" He was unconvinced, though he released her with a reluctant sigh. "You will never guess what Cadence did earlier though,"

Connor gave his twin a wary look. "Something I won't like," he assumed.

Cadence placed a hand over her heart, giving him a wide eyed look. "How ever did you guess!" she gasped, the correct amount of cluelessness in her voice though her eyes gave her away, the smugness oozing from the tilt of her lips causing him to stiffen slightly. "Oh, relax, Conn," She rolled her eyes. "I have a date tonight."

"… Is that supposed to be a surprise?" he asked unhappily. He knew very well that his sister went through men the same way she went through shoes, which she happened to change quite frequently in fact. He had long ago resigned himself to the fact that Cadence was rather promiscuous and there could be nothing done to change her ways. In fact he had tried several times to set her up with one of his friends, a plan which had backfired spectacularly when she moved on after a week of being romanced, leaving him with very angry friends to deal with.

"Oh, you wound me with your words," Cadence simpered, staring up at him with mock sorrow as she entered the house. "Though the part you won't like is that I am not the only one going," She suddenly took Brígh's hand and began heading for the staircase. "Come on, pumpkin, we need to start getting ready for tonight," She let out a soft yelp as her arm jerked uncomfortably when her sister became an abrupt dead weight behind her.

"Excuse me?"

Cadence grinned slyly. "Oh, did I forget to mention," Her tone implied that she had intentionally forgotten. "We are going on a _double_ date with Christopher and his brother," She watched in satisfaction as both of her siblings stared at her in disbelief. "… Oops," she snickered carelessly. "And we only have two hours to get ready, so we better go,"

"Absolutely not," Connor said loudly, taking ahold of Brígh's other hand. "She is not going anywhere."

"Brígh doesn't want to stay here forever, Conn,"

"I'm not about to let her go out with some muscle head ape because you want a jump his brother," Connor snapped back. "She needs to be kept safe, at least until they find that bastard."

"Kept safe?" Cadence repeated. "Kept prisoner, you mean,"

"Enough," Brígh cried, yanking her arms away from both of them. Watching them fight like this was more upsetting than the supposed _traumatic_ event had been. She shook her head, feeling annoyed and frustrated as they glared at each other. "Connor, I appreciate that you want to keep me safe," she told him calmly, and he shot his twin a rather superior look, thinking that she was taking his side. "But I am a grown woman, and I can make my own decisions. And you," she narrowed her eyes at her sister's rather pleased expression, which deflated swiftly as she was addressed. "Have no right to make promises for me, Cadence. You should have asked me before you agreed to go out with this guy,"

Cadence sighed, nodding her head. "Does that mean you're not coming?" It was less of a question and more of a statement because she doubted Brígh would ever agree to it. That was why she had not told her about it until they got home. Perhaps she should have held out longer.

"I never said that," Brígh said quietly, much to the other woman's surprise. "You already made the arrangements, and it's too late to change plans now. But this won't be happening again. Try to include me _less _from now on, okay?" She nodded in satisfaction when she heard a solemn promise, turning to give her brother an apologetic smile. "You trust me, don't you Connor?"

"Of course," he said softly.

"Can you trust me to take care of myself?"

Connor huffed a bit, because it was not only his job to take care of her but it was his _right_. Still he nodded his head with obvious reluctance. "Just don't expect me to keep Da from finding out what you two are up to tonight," he warned them. Cadence released a squeal, suddenly dragging them both in her arms. She pushed her twin away a moment later, retaking Brígh's hand before she bounded for the stairs with a blinding smile on her face.

"This is going to be so much fun!" she said as she herded the younger girl into her massive closet, which in reality could have posed as another bedroom if not for the shelves stacked to the ceilings full of shoes and folded clothes, or thousands of outfits hanging from the supports. She clapped her hands together as she looked around the very organized closet searchingly. Her foot tapped upon the floor as she stood thoughtfully, her eyes lighting up as she spotted what she wanted. "I have the perfect outfits for us,"

"And who said you would get to dress me?" Brígh asked wryly.

"I did," Cadence said dismissively, grinning as she heard the exasperated sigh in return. "Unlike you, I have style, and a better wardrobe. And you don't even know where we're going, so there is no way you could possibly choose the correct outfit for the type of establishment."

"Cadence…"

"Oh come on," she sniffed. "It's not like I'm going to put you something distasteful,"

"Your opinion of what's distasteful and mine differ slightly,"

Cadence extracted a short dress that was hanging, holding it up without a word. It was only inevitability that the young woman got her way. Brígh may have been the one to inherit their mother's kind and generous nature, but Cadence had been the one to receive her negotiating skills. The blond was not above bringing up embarrassing events or even mentioning the shirt she had found among Brígh's possession as long as she got what she wanted.

Amelia saw her daughters off when they had climbed down the stairs. She gently grazed their cheeks as she handed them each a shawl to wear over their bare shoulders. "Connor told me what you are doing tonight," she said softly, a small smile playing on her lips as she gave them an inconspicuous wink. Her voice was airy and loving as she saw them to the door.

"Did he now?" Cadence rolled her eyes.

Brígh sighed. "Da is not going to be happy,"

"Do not worry about your father, dear ones… I will handle him," Amelia promised. "Have fun, my angels,"

Brígh should have known that their mother would be on her sister's side.

**¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»****End****«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸  
¸.·´¯·»****Chapter****«·´¯·.¸**

Some of you may recognize a bit of the dialog from the original version. I admit that it was not quite as bad as I made it out to be, though I did make several changes to it, which I am pleased with. Enjoy!

Lynx


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